


Five Times Through the Fallout

by Blink_Blue



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5 Times, 5+1 Things, Angst, Brainwashing, Dehumanization, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Implied past Stucky - Freeform, Jealousy, M/M, Protective!Rumlow, Rape/Non-con Elements, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-09 18:22:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 41,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1993095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blink_Blue/pseuds/Blink_Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Rumlow helps the Winter Soldier, and the one time he breaks him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Cinco veces antes de caer (Five Times Through the Fallout)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3237404) by [Van_Krausser](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Van_Krausser/pseuds/Van_Krausser)



> I can't get enough of WinterBones. My own personal head canon insists that Rumlow has real feelings for the Winter Soldier and their relationship has been a horrendous tragedy from the beginning.
> 
> I'm going to attempt to stick to the MCU storyline as much as I can, so this fic will go from their first meeting all the way to the events of CA:TWS.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Chinese translation available here: http://www.movietvslash.com/thread-134526-1-1.html

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One: in which Rumlow meets the asset.

**One: 1996**

 

He’s twenty-one years old, and still naïve about how the world really works.

HYDRA teaches that order only comes from pain.

After bouncing around from foster home to foster home his entire life, he figures he can use a little order. He joins HYDRA not long after he turns eighteen. Secret underground organization bent on world domination? Sounds good to a young shithead with no friends or family to care about. As long as he’s on the winning team he has no problem getting his hands dirty.

Growing up on the streets means growing up tough. There was no one around to take care of him so he quickly learned to take care of himself. He took up boxing at an early age as a way of defending himself. His streets smarts became an advantage while he’s slowly making his way up HYDRA’s ranks. He’s heard that he’s hardheaded, good at following orders, but also shows the skills to be a leader in the field.

He may have started his life with nothing. But he’s damn well sure he’s not going to end it with nothing.

It’s after a long week of nonstop tactical training when he and two others are called in for a special debriefing. They have a new mission. The three of them are relatively new to the organization, no more than ten years between them. It comes as more than a shock when they’re the ones called in for the mission.

Alexander Pierce is the one to debrief them. That’s enough to know it must be a big mission. It makes Rumlow even more suspicious that they’re the ones being assigned.

“Two days ago, four men of a freedom fighter resistance group attempted an assassination of the former Iraqi president’s son. They failed. Not only that but they got themselves captured and are currently being held prisoner by the Iraqi military for questioning. We have reason to believe that one or more of these men are privy to some HYDRA details. You can see why this is a concern for us. If these men break under torture, we don’t want any of our secrets getting out. The mission is to infiltrate this Iraqi base and kill all four of these men.”

Pierce drops a folder of information onto the table in front of them. Rumlow opens it to look inside. He sees faces, names, locations, etc.

“Sir, am I to understand that the three of us are supposed to infiltrate a populated Iraqi military base to kill four men heavily guarded by Iraqi soldiers?”

He hears some nervous shuffling behind him.

“I’m honored that you have so much faith in us, sir, but I have to insist that with only the three of us, it kind of sounds like a suicide mission.”

Pierce lets out a small laugh and grins at him in a way that makes him uncomfortable. “No, don’t be ridiculous. We’re sending in the asset.”

Rumlow raises his eyebrows. “The asset?”

Pierce begins a slow walk around the table. “Have any of you heard of the Winter Soldier?”

They slowly shake their heads.

“That’s what the Russians called him.” He’s made his way so that he’s standing in front of another door inside the vault. “We call it the asset. He’s HYDRA’s most valuable weapon, and one of our greatest secrets.”

Rumlow’s curiosity is peaked. It kind of feels like he’s been let into an exclusive club, members only.

Pierce nods at one of the guards and the man opens the door for him. They follow Pierce inside. It’s a room none of them have seen before.

“This is the asset. We acquired it from the Russians during the messy collapse of the Soviet Union.” And he sounds so damn smug when he says it.

He’s shocked when he first sees the guy—he was half expecting a nuclear weapon of mass destruction—and his eyes narrow as he takes him in. Pale skin that clearly hasn’t seen much sun, long stringy dark hair that looks like it could use a good washing, or a comb maybe. Muscular and built, but he’s got two lab technicians strapping a tactical uniform onto him, lots of leather, lots of straps. He can’t be more than a few years older than himself. This guy is supposed to be HYDRA greatest weapon?

But then the tech on the right moves back and Rumlow sees the arm. It’s completely made of metal. There’s a shiny red star painted on the shoulder. From the Russians, he presumes. The tech returns and pulls a single fingerless glove onto the metal hand as the guy stares off blankly in front of him.

“How long has this guy been in the business?” Rumlow whispers to the man in a white lab coat standing next to him.

The other man gives him a smirk. “You have no idea.”

What kind of answer is that?

The techs finish their work and step away, allowing Pierce to move forward until he’s standing directly in front of the asset. Out the corner of his eye, Rumlow notices some of the guards tensing around their weapons, and his own fingers start itching towards the gun on his hip.

Pierce shows no fear.

The asset speaks. “ожидает протокол миссии”

Pierce sighs and turns back towards them. “Excuse his Russian, it’s his default setting. We’re still trying to override it.” He says it like his talking about his computer software malfunctioning. “Speak. English.” He says to the asset, leaning down and enunciating as if he’s talking to a child.

“Awaiting mission protocol,” comes the soft voice, sounding like it hasn’t been used in a long while. It’s too soft, like a child’s. How is this guy supposed to single handedly take down an Iraqi army base?

Pierce reaches out a hand and grasps the man’s chin, tilting it upward. The other man makes no movement.

“Hmm, beautiful isn’t he?”

Rumlow’s eyes narrow slightly. How are they supposed to answer that?

But then Pierce removes his hand and turns to the head technician. “Is he prepped?”

“Ready for mission, sir.”

As Rumlow watches, the tech brings forward a black mask and begins strapping it to the asset’s face. The man makes no movement as the straps are tightly bound behind his head, underneath his hair.

“Good.”

Pierce turns back to the team. “The jet is ready for you. You’ve got a long flight ahead of you. I strongly suggest you have the mission protocol read before you land. There’s quite a bit of material on how to handle the asset. I’ll give you the highlights: the asset is not a friend, he is not a colleague, he is a weapon, and you will treat him as such. You take care of the asset as you would your own personal firearm. Do not speak to it unless you’re giving it an order. Do you understand me?”

They all nod simultaneously.

Rumlow sneaks a glance at the asset, who’s still sitting in his chair, staring off blankly into space as if he’s not being spoken about like an object.

Maybe HYDRA’s a little more fucked than he gave it credit for.

“Good,” Pierce continues. “I won’t have you incompetents fucking up HYDRA’s greatest weapon.” He smirks at them, making eye contact with each one. He’s trying to intimidate them. Rumlow doesn’t back down, and meets his gaze head on. “One last thing, the mission is for the asset. The test is for you, all of you. Whoever proves he can handle the asset will be granted special privileges as his personal handler. Not a job to be taken lightly.”

They all nod their understanding.

Pierce gives him one last look and turns to walk away. “Good luck, boys. Don’t let me down.”

Rumlow inhales a breath of relief. Pierce is intimidating to say the least. But he’s eager to prove himself, and he’ll do the best damn job with the asset that he can.

Folders of paper, mission statements and protocols are shoved into their hands. Rumlow glances at the other two briefly. None of them outrank the others. This is his chance to take charge. “Let’s go.”

They begin to turn when Rumlow glances back to look at the asset. He’s still sitting in the chair. He doesn’t move an inch except his eyes, which flicker to meet his gaze, hard and unwavering. It sends a small shiver down his back when he feels that cold gaze on him.

He has a sudden ridiculous urge to say ‘heel boy, heel’ like he’s a fucking dog. He doesn’t. Instead he says, “What are you waiting for? We’re heading out,” in his most commanding voice.

The asset stands and takes a step forward, then waits. They head towards the exit and without looking behind him Rumlow can feel the asset following.

At least HYDRA has him well trained.

It’s a small private jet that’s waiting for them. The door is open when they arrive, and they all watch in silence as agents load up the jet with crates upon crates of weapons. Handguns, submachine guns, and assault rifles are pretty standard. When he looks carefully he sees what appears to be a fucking grenade launcher. It’s a rather large armory for such a small team. When the men are finished, the asset silently sits down in a seat a few feet from the weapons like he’s one of them.

The three of them file in after him and sit on the other side across from the asset. He watches them unnervingly from behind the mask.

“Wasn’t expecting this when I woke up this morning,” Erikson mutters.

“He’s creepy as fuck,” Sanford says under his breath. The asset’s eyes flash towards him and he quickly shuts up. Rumlow smiles to himself and glances down at the papers in his lap. Might as well get started on the reading. There’s plenty of time to kill during the flight.

The jet slowly begins its shaky lift off and they begin to make themselves comfortable.

“Mission protocol.”

The three of them glance up at the asset in shock. No one answers him. Rumlow quickly glances at his papers, looking for a dos and don’ts list to make this easier.

“Awaiting mission protocol,” he repeats in the same low voice.

Fuck it.

“You’re going to infiltrate an Iraqi army base. We’re looking to kill four men being held prisoner.” He rifles through the packet, grabbing the photos of the men they’re looking for and gets up to hand them to the asset, who takes it in his metal hand.

The gears in the arm shift loudly and Rumlow sneaks a look at the shiny metal plates before sitting back down in his seat. He waits for the man to ask more questions but he remains silent. He looks at the photos for a moment before going back to staring blankly in front of him.

The other two don’t seem to care much for the reading. Erikson has his phone pulled out and Sanford has his eyes closed, head tilted back. Rumlow looks back down at his papers, deciding he might as well get started. The knowledge will only give him an advantage during the mission.

Pierce’s words ring in his head as he looks over how to treat and look after the asset. There’s a long list of what to do and an even longer list of what not to do.

_The asset requires minimal sustenance. Give water twice and food once a day as necessary (MREs only, provided during missions)._

_The asset must be told to defecate twelve hours post feeding_.

_The asset must remain masked at all times in public._

_The asset must be given strict orders including targets and rendezvous points._

_Do not show feelings or emotions towards the asset. Doing so will interfere with fundamental programming set in place._

Rumlow looks up at the man sitting across from him. Is he even a man? He seems more of a cyborg assassin considering the arm and the blank stare.

The manual even included a few key trigger words. There’s one to disable the arm, one to send an electric shock powerful enough to incapacitate the asset, and the last one, only to be used as a last resort, is described as a “manual override” in case the asset malfunctions. The terms are all in Russian. He’ll have to brush up on his Russian just in case he has to use them.

Fuck. Leave it to HYDRA to steal a man-machine from the Russians, and use it to do their dirty work. And now he’s here to make sure it behaves. Fucking typical.

Nearly half a day later they finally land on Iraqi soil. There’s a truck already waiting for them. HYDRA has connections spread all over the globe. They drive to a safe house provided solely for this mission.

Finally, they arrive at their destination. It’s home for the night anyway. They’re tired, and need rest before the mission tomorrow. Rumlow thinks if he has to listen to Sanford complain about the lame mission one more time he might have to punch him in the face. He sets down the last crate he had to carry and drops down onto the bottom of one of the two bunk beds set up in the small room. The place is bare. Besides the beds, there’s a large fold out table, and a bathroom that looks as old as it is unsanitary.

Erikson follows his cue and collapses onto the other set of beds. Sitting on a cramped jet for twelve hours is a lot more tiring than it sounds.

“So what the hell are we supposed to do with this guy?” Sanford asks. The others turn to look at the asset, who hasn’t spoken a word since asking about the mission. He’s still wearing the mask, which is unsettling in itself. But his dark eyes are now flickering between each of them. Sizing them up maybe?

“You want to maybe take the mask off? Take a seat? Stop being so fucking creepy?”

“Sanford!” Rumlow glares at the guy. Rule number one is not to speak to the asset unless it’s a direct order.

Sanford lets out a huff and rolls his eyes. If Rumlow was his commanding officer he’d put him in his place. The guy’s a dick on a good day. Sanford just climbs onto the top bunk over Erikson, and they both let it go.

Rumlow is about to move towards the gear they brought when the asset slowly moves, drawing his attention. He freezes and watches the asset slowly reach up to undo the clasps of the mask. He moves, mechanically, and slowly sits on the floor, next to the weapons and equipment that they brought in, and sets the mask down on the floor next to him. His dull, blank eyes are no less creepy without the mask on. If Sanford’s watching he doesn’t make a comment. He wonders if maybe the guy had his brain replaced as well as that arm. He doesn’t seem close to human.

Rumlow continues moving towards the gear, feeling uncomfortable being so close to HYDRA’s valued asset. He digs through the equipment looking for the packages of MREs that he knows HYDRA packed for them.

“You guys hungry?”

Erikson sits up and looks over at him. “For barely edible military food? Bring it on,” he says sarcastically. He gets up and walks over anyway.

Rumlow lets out a chuckle and hands him a package and a water bottle. Erikson grabs extra for Sanford and makes his way back to the bunk. The other man reaches down and accepts the items unenthusiastically.

“Do we need to feed him?” Erikson asks, nodding to asset.

Rumlow looks down at the man by his feet. “Yeah, once a day.” He hands him a package of MRE and a water bottle. The asset accepts them wordlessly.

“He better be able to feed himself,” Sanford says.

The asset still says nothing. But he does open the package in his hands and starts eating. Rumlow moves back to his own bunk and watches him. From what he’s read, the guy can barely take care of himself. Being told when and what to eat and shit, this guy belongs in a fucking hospital, not on a mission as HYDRA’s greatest weapon. He’s half convinced tomorrow’s mission is going to be a complete failure. What happens if this guy gets himself killed? Are they going to be responsible for the death of HYDRA’s valued asset?

Like hell he’s going to let some helpless, mindless zombie ruin his chances of moving up in HYDRA. If the asset fails tomorrow, he’ll take down the fucking army base himself.

“I’ll take the top bunk.” He says to the asset. “You take the bottom.”

The asset watches him carefully as he climbs into the top bunk. He’s read that the asset doesn’t need to sleep more than a few hours every few days. But tomorrow’s the big mission. He might as well be well rested. And if he’s in the bunk at least he won’t be staring at them in the dark. It’s too fucking creepy, even for him.

He listens as the asset shuffles into the space beneath him. He closes his eyes and decides to get some rest. Tomorrow is guaranteed to be a shit show.

*

When Rumlow wakes the next morning he has no idea how long he’s slept. There are no windows in the safe house. He glances at his watch. It’s time to get ready for the mission.

He gets out of the bunk as quietly as he can, sparing a glance at the others. Erikson and Sanford are still asleep. But the asset watches his movements with sharp eyes, silent as always. He wonders if the man’s slept at all during the night. Rumlow meets his gaze for a few moments, unsettled, before turning towards the bathroom to relieve himself.

There’s no sign of movement from any of the others when he gets back. He grabs a water bottle for himself and hands one to the asset.

“You need to… relieve yourself?”

The asset stares at him.

“Go to the bathroom,” he says, exasperated.

The asset gets up to move. And Rumlow almost thinks he gives him a look of thanks before it’s gone.

“Wake up you lazy assholes!”

The other two groan and toss in their uncomfortable bunks, before slowly sitting up.

Rumlow begins preparing for the mission. Technically, the asset’s mission. He lays out all the weapons required. The mission protocol came with a handy manual that explicitly states how to outfit the asset for a mission.

Erikson’s finally beginning to review the protocol. At least he’s bothering with it. Sanford hasn’t glanced at the papers since he got them.

An hour later they’re ready to get started. They’ve eaten and they all know the plan. Drive out to the base, keep a good distance, stay hidden. Assess the situation but leave the rest to the asset. There are no instructions for how he’s supposed to actually infiltrate the base. Maybe the orders are just programmed into his brain.

They each begin to prep themselves, putting on their tactical uniforms and making sure their weapons are loaded. This is standard protocol for them, and they’ve done it a dozen times. The asset watches them from a distance.

Sanford turns to the guy. “What’s he waiting for?” He asks, as he’s putting his glock into his hip holster.

“Well if you had bothered reading the mission protocol…”

“We have to prep him.” Erikson finishes for him.

“Seriously?” He scoffs. “Jesus, can this guy do anything for himself?”

“Can a weapon load itself?” Rumlow says dryly. “Get over here,” he motions the asset closer.

He begins strapping on a custom thigh holster onto the asset’s right side. The asset doesn’t move, he just stares infuriating off into space. Erikson helps him on his other side with the other holster. Two knives are strapped to the back of his waist, another one on his side, along with a few hand grenades. And together, Erikson and Rumlow figure out how to strap a submachine pistol onto his back. Sanford, the little shit, just watches lazily from his seat on one of the bunks.

Rumlow places the mask back on his face while Erikson checks the protocol to see if they’ve forgotten anything. He tries to make sure the straps don’t pull on his hair too much. It’s a lot tighter than he thought it would be, and it reminds him of a muzzle as much as something to hide one’s identity. This is the closest he’s been to the asset. His cold eyes flicker to meet his own. They’re a shocking blue color, bright and sharp. It looks wrong on such a dead gaze.

“Here, put that on him.” Erikson hands him a pair of tactical goggles.

Rumlow raises an eyebrow and does it, fastening the straps under the asset’s long dark hair. He steps back to look at their work. With the full mask and goggles on they can’t see any feature of the assets face.

“Holy shit, that’s terrifying,” Erikson murmurs.

Rumlow nods in agreement. “Come on, let’s go.” They each grab their own assault rifles and a bag of weapons for the asset, and head out to the truck.

Sanford drives and Erikson sits in the front passenger seat, leaving Rumlow in the back with the asset. It’s unnerving how he can’t see the soldier’s face. It dehumanizes him even more. Can’t even tell if he’s looking at him. He probably is.

They arrive near the military base and are careful to stay hidden behind the dunes. Don’t want to give away the element of surprise. Iraq is everything he imagined it to be. Sand, sand, and fucking sand everywhere. He suddenly wishes he had his own mask and goggles to cover his face with.

The asset watches the base, silent as always.

There’s only a small handful of buildings. “There,” Rumlow says, pointing to the one with guards standing at both entrances. “I guarantee they’re being keep in there.”

A moment later the asset moves, he shifts towards them like he’s waiting. Erikson opens the bag of weapons. A Colt M4A1 assault rifle is handed to him. He slings it over one shoulder with the strap, and holds his hands out. Erikson hands him a Milkor MGL 6 cylinder grenade launcher. The asset is ready.

He walks forward, each step filled with purpose and drive. He doesn’t bother trying to be covert or sneaky. They watch as he raises the grenade launcher, sending a blast directly into a military truck. It explodes backwards, men scrambling to get away from it. The sound immediately alerts the entire camp that an attack is underway. This was not the covert operation that Rumlow was expecting.

Another blast is launched at a group of cowering soldiers. Fire and body parts explode around the asset, who moves calm and unphased.

The soldiers start firing back. The asset’s metal arm protects him from the bullets until he finds cover behind a truck. A moment later another blast sends soldiers flying away.

The asset sets down the grenade launcher, and takes up the assault rifle hanging around his shoulders. Bullets fly towards the soldiers and they drop like flies. Each one of his targets doesn’t stand a chance. His aim is impeccable. It's chaotic until the soldiers drop, still and silent. 

The asset makes his way towards the building holding the prisoners. He’s dropped the assault rifle now, and grabs the handguns by his side. Each one of his movements are made with grace. He doesn’t run towards his opponents, he steps like a predator, slowly hunting his prey. Bullets fly towards him and he dodges with flips and turns worthy of a life long gymnast. Men drop all around him. They never even get close to the asset.

They are literally watching a one-man murder machine.

The guards at the door are already dead, taken down by the asset’s bullets. He kicks the door open with enough force that it flies backwards.

They can’t see him anymore. But they hear the sound of his guns, echoing out of the building. They were silent before. But now…

“Holy shit…”

“That was… insane.”

Rumlow doesn’t join in. He watches intently. There’s silence for a moment, then come four shots in succession, and then silence again.

“He did it. He actually fucking did it.”

The asset walks out calm as ever. There are still soldiers trying to take him down. He throws a hand grenade that lands perfectly under a truck that was shielding a group of soldiers. He stalks towards the others—calm in his movements—while reloading one of his handguns. Every shot aimed at him is bounced off his metal arm. Soldiers drop one at a time.

Until finally, the shots stop. The asset stalks around the base. A slight movement on his right, he fires, and a body drops to the ground. At one point he runs out of bullets and drop his guns to the soft sand, grabbing a knife in each hand instead. The soldiers dare to attack him now. But it doesn’t fare any better in their favor. The asset dodges every bullet, flips in the air with grace and power. His knives bury themselves in the throats of the soldiers, splattering blood all over his mask. He’s just as capable at close combat as he is with an assault rifle. A single kick from the asset sends a soldier flying a hundred feet back.

“This guy isn’t human,” Rumlow murmurs, the first words he’s said the entire time. He’s beautiful. His movements have a grace that Rumlow could never hope to accomplish in the field. He’s dangerous, and a stunning sight to watch.

The number of men left standing can be counted on one hand. The asset takes them out one at a time. The last one, he throws his blade, which lands cleanly in the middle of his chest, and he drops to his knees.

The asset looks around, his hands are now empty. The mask and goggles hide his entire face. Rumlow wishes he could see it now.

There are men moaning in pain all over the base, those who aren’t dead. The asset wasn’t aiming to kill, he was aiming to incapacitate. Too bad the majority of the soldiers who aren’t dead will probably bleed out before they get medical attention.

This is order, he tells himself. And there is no order without pain.

The asset’s mission has been accomplished. The prisoners are dead. Anyone who stood in his way was also taken out. He walks back towards them, slow and purposeful as ever.

He says nothing. They say nothing. And they pile into the truck to head back to the safe house.

“I called it in. The jet will be ready to take us back in a few hours.” Rumlow says when they arrive.

They’re still a little stunned by the display they saw. No one has said a word to the asset. The asset stands, still and silent, face completely shielded from view.

“Well, since we’ve got a few hours to kill, who’s up for some real food?” Sanford asks.

“Yeah, sure,” Erikson reluctantly accepts.

Rumlow shakes his head. “I’m going to get our shit packed up, make sure we’re ready to go. Maybe get him cleaned up,” he nods towards the asset.

The idea of touching the asset clearly makes the other two uncomfortable. They wish him luck and quickly head out the door, leaving Rumlow alone with the silent asset.

Once the others are gone, he takes a good look at the asset, and notices for the first time the dark blood that’s drying down the side of his uniform.

“Holy shit, are you alright?” He steps closer, and without thinking, presses a hand to the asset’s side. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s nothing,” the asset finally speaks. “I’m not malfunctioning.”

Rumlow scoffs. “If I don’t clean this up, you might be malfunctioning sooner than you think. Come on,” he grabs his arm and pulls him towards one of the bunk. The asset sits down while he grabs the first aid kit.

Carefully, he starts to undo the straps of the asset’s uniform. On second thought, he pauses, and removes the mask and goggles first. It’s just too unsettling. The asset makes no motion to help him. The leather slowly peals off his body, revealing a bullet wound on the asset’s right side. It’s not bleeding horrendously, but a quick look shows him no exit wound. He’ll have to extract the bullet.

“Lay down on your back. I’ve got to get the bullet out.”

The asset does as he says.

Rumlow pulls on a pair of latex gloves and begins cleaning the area with rubbing alcohol. The red drips down his side, bright and alive.

“So you are human,” he murmurs. And the asset’s eyes flicker towards him. He gives him a strange look, almost like the words are a mystery to him.

He grabs a pair of forceps and cleans them as best he can with the alcohol.

“This is going to hurt.”

He starts digging into the wound, trying to go as slow and gentle as he can, looking for the bullet. He quickly glances at the asset’s face. The man shows no pain, but he can see the asset’s fingers clench the thin sheets beneath him. He does feel pain.

He feels the forceps hit metal and he carefully tries to grasp the bullet. The asset stifles a grunt of pain as he slowly pulls the forceps back out.

“That was really amazing, you know.” He speaks, thinking maybe it’ll keep the asset’s mind off the pain. “I definitely doubted you for a moment. Thought we’d be taking home a body riddled with bullet holes.”

The asset doesn’t answer him.

He knows he’s not supposed to speak to it. But he can’t seem to help himself. “You got a name? It’s kind of weird calling you ‘the asset’ ”. He carefully loops the thread into the curved needle, and wipes away fresh blood again before starting to thread the bullet wound closed.

“The Russians called you the Winter Soldier, right? Badass name. It’s fitting, you know?” Rumlow glances at his face again. He seems torn, like he knows he’s not supposed to speak, so why is this man speaking to him? “Like the toughest soldier. You were relentless out there. Brutal. Fucking incredible.”

The asset stays silent, but he’s watching him now.

“It’s kind of a mouthful though. How about Winter?” He finishes tying the thread in a tight knot. “I could call you Winter.” He gives him a soft smile. “My name’s Brock. Brock Rumlow. Sit up, I’m going to get you cleaned up.”

He grabs a clean washcloth and empties a bottle of water over it. He wrings it out and begins wiping the asset’s face. There’s sweat and dirt covering him. He brushes the dark hair back and gently brushes the cloth down one side of his face, then the other, gently cleaning his nose. Blue eyes watch him silently. But they don’t look so dead now, not as… blank. Hooded by long, thick eyelashes, he almost looks sad. Beautiful. Rumlow scoffs in his head. Pierce was definitely right about that.

Rumlow’s thumb brushes across plump, red lips. There’s nothing wrong with admiring something so beautiful.

He lets out a mirthless breath. “Who are you?” He murmurs. Slowly he drops his hand and rewets the cloth, wringing out the excess water. He cleans the rest of the asset, wiping away sweat and grime from long lines of hard muscle. Down his neck, and his front, both sides, he’s extra careful around the wound.

There’s dried blood on the metal arm. “Can you lift it for me?” The asset does so, and the shifting of the gears rings out loudly in the small room. He carefully wipes down the metal. He witnessed today what happens when a person gets hit by a cybernetic arm. The asset is as dangerous as he is beautiful. It makes him special, because Rumlow’s never met someone like him before.

When he’s done, he throws the dirty washcloth onto the floor. He turns to face the asset. There’s little emotion on his face, but Rumlow thinks he looks… confused? Like no one has ever shown him kindness before. Maybe no one has.

The others return just as Rumlow finishes getting the asset’s leather uniform back on.

They’re loud and drunk—at least Sanford is—much more relaxed now that the mission’s over.

Erikson shoves a bottle of vodka into his arms. “Something for the road,” he says with a smile.

Rumlow returns it, “Thanks, I could use good drink right about now.”

He takes a swig of the bottle and winces as the cheap vodka burns down his throat. He glances behind him. Sanford’s in the bathroom and Erikson’s rummaging through his bag. He holds out the bottle towards the asset, raising his eyebrows.

The asset stares at it. Then his eyes move up to meet his. He’s confused. No one’s ever shared with him before. But he knows he’s not supposed to. He gives a barely visible shake of his head.

Rumlow shrugs and takes another large swig. Good way to get ready for another twelve hour flight.

“So you don’t drink.” He says softly, so only they can hear. “How about a smoke then?” He pulls out a pack of cigarettes from one of his many pockets. He nods his head towards the door, and slowly, the asset follows him.

Rumlow pulls out a cigarette and lights it before holding out the pack. The asset looks confused. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. Rumlow gives him a small smile. HYDRA’s most dangerous weapon can’t even figure out how to light a cigarette. He pulls another cigarette out of the pack. “Open,” he commands. He places it between those soft lips and lights it for him. “Inhale.”

The asset does, hollowing out his cheeks as he does so. And then he just kind of stares at him, eyes wide, holding the smoke in his lungs, nearly looking comical. Rumlow reaches for the asset’s human hand, and brings it up so two fingers grasp the thin cylinder, pulling it from his lips.

“Now exhale.”

The asset does, and his eyes slightly glaze over as the nicotine floods his system.

“Feels good, right?” He says gently, taking a drag of his own smoke.

The asset watches him carefully, imitating his motions. It feels good. It feels like there’s a soft, gentle buzzing in his head, tingling his nerves. It makes him think there’s something really important he’s forgotten, from a long time ago, something really far away.

Rumlow glances over at him again. The asset’s eyes are closed, head tilted back just a bit, looking more relaxed than he’s ever seen him as he slowly exhales the smoke from those soft, pink lips.

“I’m guessing they never let you smoke.”

The asset is as silent as he ever is. He does open his eyes though, and he looks at the other man like he’s lost.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think… I think there’s somethin’ I’ve forgot’n. Somethin’ import’nt. Someone, maybe…”

Rumlow’s lips fall open slightly and his eyes widen. Because there’s a distinct Brooklyn drawl that was never there before when the asset spoke in his low, monotone voice.

The asset lifts the cigarette to his lips again, takes an impressive drag, and blows the smoke back out into the air like he’s been a lifelong smoker. In another life maybe.

Muscle memory.

“Okay, enough of that.” A twinge of terror hits him as he grabs the half smoked cigarette and drops it, crushing it beneath his boot. If he’s somehow broken the asset’s valued programming, HYDRA will skin him alive for it. “Let’s go back inside. It’s time to leave.”

The asset has the nerve to give him a sad, longing look. If Rumlow weren’t afraid of breaking the programming he’d indulge the asset in as many smokes as he wants.

It’s time to go home.

*

“Mission report.”

“Mission successful. Target eliminated.” The asset appears back to normal. The light in his eyes that Rumlow saw earlier had faded slowly, nearly gone by the time they reached the HYDRA base.

Pierce nods. “Good. Very good. No casualties, I see,” he says as he glances towards the three men. He leans closer to the asset, and whispers in his ear, Rumlow itches to know what he’s saying to him.

Slowly, the asset turns to them. But it’s clearly him that he’s making unwavering eye contact with. He gets a little nervous, and hopes that it doesn’t show. Winter better not sell him out when he was nice to him.

“Rumlow, you stay. The others can go.”

“Yes, sir.”

The others leave and Pierce signals the asset to start walking towards the other room where he first saw him. Rumlow follows silently behind.

The lab techs busily get to work when they walk in. He watches as they work methodically to remove the asset’s uniform. The leather is removed, as well as the single glove on the metal arm, until he’s just left in his black pants and combat boots. The techs usher him into the single chair in the middle of the room, surrounded by medical equipment.

“What are you doing to him?”

“They’re just checking his vitals,” Pierce says absently. “Making sure he’s fully functional.”

One of the techs hooks him up to a monitor, and watches the screen as it returns various numbers. Another one examines the arm, opening the plates to check the wires and gears inside for damage.

“Good job on the mission, Rumlow.” Pierce suddenly says to him.

He looks up in surprise. “Thank you, sir.”

“Being able to handle the asset is a rare skill to have, a coveted one in this organization. You did well. We won’t forget that.”

Rumlow swells inside. It’s one of the few praises he’s heard since he got here.

“Thank you, sir.” He says again.

“The asset appears to be in peak condition, sir. All vitals look good.”

“Good.” Pierce nods. “Wipe him, then put him away.”

The techs nod at his instructions.

“Feel free to stay and observe this part. It may be of interest to you.” He gives him a smile before turning and walking away.

Rumlow turns back to the asset just in time to see them push him back onto the seat. His eyes are hard, resigned, and they flicker towards him before he opens his mouth to accept a mouth guard. The men step back and a loud clang reverberates through the room signaling the movement of metal restraints closing around both the asset’s arms.

“What are you doing to him?” He asks, taking a step closer. He stops when the machine behind the asset starts whirring, the metal apparatus coming closer towards the asset. His naked chest starts heaving up and down as his breaths draw quicker. He’s hyperventilating. Scared.

“We’re wiping him. It’s standard protocol for long term storage.”

“Long term storage—what?"

Electricity crackles, lightning white and terrifying, in the two metal plates that are now framing the assets head. They close, shifting into place around his face and skull.

The screams are terrifying, and he nearly jumps back when he hears them. They're raw and anguished and filled with so much pain. He winces when he sees the asset’s face scrunched up in agony. His fists are clenched, and his body shakes and spasms as he screams in torturous pain. He can only imagine what it feels like to have volts of electricity sent directly into your skull. Traumatizing doesn’t even begin to cover it. And yet not a single person moves to help him.

The men in white coats watch him like they’ve done this a hundred times before. They probably have, Rumlow realizes. It’s standard protocol.

Finally, the screams stop. And the machines are slowly retracted.

The asset lies relaxed, face no longer a mask of pain, it’s just… blank. His chest hitches sporadically as he draws short, shaky breaths. There’s an occasional twitch in his real arm, and in his legs, as his brain continues to misfire electrical signals.

Jesus fuck.

This is what they do to him. This is how they keep him pliant and submissive. The asset. Without a mind of his own, unable to make his own decisions or do anything for himself. This is what HYDRA has done to him. They take away what makes him human.

Is this order?

One of the techs removes the mouth guard and the chair moves until the asset is sitting up. Rumlow watches him. There’s no recognition in his eyes, no life, no pain. Just emptiness.

They literally wiped his mind.

The techs strip him of his boots. They stand him up and strip his pants and undergarments while he stares blankly past Rumlow. He watches as they herd him into an adjacent room, which appears to be just a large shower. The spray comes on and they wash him down, scrubbing hard at his skin, scrubbing him clean. They don’t bother with soap or shampoo. They just hold his head under the spray and let the water wash over his hair, running down his body. The spray turns off and they dry him off the best they can with a few towels.

They bring him back into the room and shuffle him towards a metal chamber towards the side. The chamber is connected by large tubes to a heavy metal tank sitting next to it. There’s a warning label on it. He reads 'liquid nitrogen'. One of the techs opens the metal door, it hisses as it swings open, and a dense white fog seeps out into the warm air.

It’s a fucking cryotube.

With a push, the asset clambers inside. Rumlow can see him start to shiver even before the door closes.

With the push of a few buttons, liquid nitrogen floods into the tank. Rumlow barely suppresses a shudder as the sound of crackling and fizzing fills the air. Once it stops, the tech releases the nitrogen back into the tank.

The screen towards the bottom of the cryo chamber flashes on slowly, until it settles at -80.0 C.

Rumlow slowly steps forward. He has to stand on his tip toes to look into the tube through the screen. The asset is still. Too still. His eyes are closed. There’s frost along the edges of the screen. The asset is bathed in a light blue glow. He’s pale and still. Frozen and beautiful. Until the next time HYDRA decides to defrost him for their use.

Rumlow slowly steps away as the lab techs start putting away the equipment. Just like they put away the soldier. None of it will be used until the asset is reawaken.

He thinks about the asset for a long time after that day.

Unfortunately for him, it’s years before he sees him again.

 


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two: in which Rumlow develops an unhealthy obsession.

**Two: 1999**

 

He’s twenty-four years old, and he knows what death is.

He’s seen it in the faces of strangers that HYDRA tells him to gun down. He sees it in the news, day after day, as the world tears itself apart, desperately trying to find order in chaos. He saw it when Erikson took a bullet to the head, courtesy of enemy fire, a single casualty of an otherwise successful mission.

Erikson was a good man, and a good soldier. It’s a shame HYDRA lost him so young. Rumlow didn’t grieve too long for him. They were barely friends, but they joined around the same time.

He spends a lot of his time thinking about the Winter Soldier. He thinks about that cold metal cryo chamber. Which of HYDRA’s many storage facilities is it sitting in, gathering dust? Does the asset think, or feel, or dream while he’s frozen? He hopes it’s peaceful. It was three years ago when he witnessed HYDRA’s greatest weapon single handedly take down a small army base. It changed his life.

No one has spoken of the asset since. He slowly fades away in his mind, like a dream that gets harder and harder to remember. He begins to think he may never see him again.

Then, one day Pierce requests him for a mission debriefing.

Pierce isn’t alone when he arrives. Baron von Strucker, another high-level officer of HYDRA is with him. From the tone of their conversation, he’s not happy.

“Sirs.” Rumlow stands back straight, serious faced, ready to serve.

“Rumlow,” Pierce greets him. Strucker doesn’t spare him a glance. The expression on his face is one of pure fury. He probably doesn’t even know his name. Certainly they’ve never spoken before today. Leaders of HYDRA don’t usually associate with low-level grunts.

“It appears we have a situation,” Pierce calmly tells him. “A dire one, in need of fixing.” He hands him a photograph. “This is the target.”

His brows furrow together when he sees the face. He knows this woman. They all do. Valerie Morgan is high up in HYDRA’s ranks, a woman to be feared and respected. Except when he and the other guys ogle her ass as she walks around in her four inch heels.

“Agent Morgan, sir?”

“Agent Morgan is a spy. She goes by Valerie Morgon, but her real name is Valentina Allegra de Fontaine. And she’s a traitor. She was one of our sleeper agents in SHIELD. Nicholas Fury discovered her true identity. Well, it turns out she had us fooled too.”

“Never trust a woman.” Baron spits. “And a Russian one at that.”

“It was revealed that she’s working for a Russian espionage group called Leviathan.” Pierce is much calmer than his colleague. Or maybe he’s just better at shielding his emotions. “We need to take her out before SHIELD does. She knows too many of our secrets. This woman is dangerous. She was one of our best.” He pauses briefly, narrowing his eyes at Rumlow. “We’re bringing out the asset for the job. I trust you remember him.”

Rumlow nods his head, trying not to look too eager, and trying to hide the fact that his heart rate picked up at the mention of the asset.

“Then you remember what he can do. Stay out of his way, and he’ll take her down.”

Strucker scoffs. “Killed by one of her own. Suits her right. Bitch.”

“She left a trail behind her. We tracked her to Boston. You’ll be leaving tonight, with the asset, and a team. Put one together, men you trust.”

Rumlow swallows, and nods. Leader of his own team. He wasn’t expecting it to happen so soon. This is the opportunity he’s been waiting for. He’s nearly jumping out of his boots.

“Remember, SHIELD’s after her. I want her dead before they get to her. You’re in charge of this mission, Rumlow. I trust you’ll make sure nothing goes wrong.”

“Yes, sir.”

Pierce nods. “Head down to medical. They’re defrosting the asset.”

Rumlow nods and takes his leave. He’s here. The asset’s here. And he’s finally going to see him again. As the years slowly passed, it got harder and harder to picture what he saw that day. The power, strength, and brutality of the man the Russians called the Winter Soldier. He can barely remember what his face looked like. Sometimes he thinks his mind simply exaggerates what he saw that day. But no matter how many nights pass, he can still recall the image of plush red lips curling around the filter of a cigarette.

He reaches the medical wing on one of the R&D floors and throws open the double doors. There are a handful of scientists and lab techs in the room that turn to him when he walks in. He gives them a curt nod, “just here to observe.” They promptly ignore him and get back to their work.

The cryo chamber is there, set off to the side. One of the lab techs is fiddling with the controls. The screen at the bottom flashes as the temperature changes, -35 C and rising. He still can’t believe what the asset can endure. Multiple freeze thaw cycles, it should be impossible. He’s no scientist, but even he knows regular humans would never come back after being snap frozen in liquid nitrogen and stored at -80 C for three years.

There’s a chair in the middle of the room, like a dentist’s chair, surrounded by medical equipment, various monitors and screens. He sees a scientist setting out syringes on the bench top. Another one brings over a small metal case from a freezer. He opens it and sets three glass bottles onto the counter next to the syringes.

The scientist sees him watching. “He’s been pumped full of cryoprotectants prior to the freezing. This drug cocktail removes toxicity from the chemicals, helps circulate oxygen, basically helps him recover faster,” he explains casually, as he glances back down at his notes. “No fucking freezer burn, know what I mean?”

“Temperature currently at -20 C.”

“Alright, begin the warming.”

A few presses of buttons and a warming liquid begins to fill the chamber. It sloshes around through the screen of the chamber until it nearly fills the entire thing. The temperature reading flashes quickly, numbers changing until it settles at 37 C.

Then silence, for a moment, then—there’s a flash of movement behind the screen, a turning of the head maybe. He can hear the screeching of old, unused gears, and the sound of metal banging against metal.

Another bang as a human hand smashes against the screen, and then he sees bright, pained, blue eyes that stare wide and panicked, mouth wide open, searching for air.

The Winter Soldier has awaken.

“Empty it.”

The liquid drains as quickly as it filled. Two scientists step forward, working the mechanism to unlock and open the chamber door. Rumlow inches forward, trying to get a better look. The door is pulled open and the Winter Soldier collapses out of it, limbs moving like old, wet rubber. The metal arm clangs loudly when it hits the ground.

He’s gasping for breath, naked and shivering, violently.

Two of the guys come forward, dragging him up and into the waiting chair. A lab tech comes over drapes a large electric blanket over him as the scientists start connecting him to the machines. The one who spoke to him before fills a syringe from one of the vials, and moves to the asset’s right side, expertly injecting it into his human arm.

Rumlow watches as the scientists murmur to themselves, writing notes in their notebooks. The asset takes the next two injections without response. He’s staring blankly in front of him, even as a scientist shines a light in his eyes, checking for pupil response. He’s still shivering violently, even with the blanket. His lips are tinged blue and his skin more pale than any person’s should be. His internal temperature must still be so fucking cold.

Rumlow tries to imagine the feeling of blood returning to frozen fresh and nerves on fire. His own arm starts shaking and he stops.

Slowly, the asset becomes more responsive. His eyes twitch, and his head jerks forcefully as he looks around him, hair whipping droplets of liquid everywhere.

He scared, and confused.

The scientists seem satisfied enough with his vitals. They unhook him from the machines. Two of the techs have put on full body suits. They pull at the asset’s arms, dragging him to his feet once again. He sluggishly sags against them. They pull him into an adjoining room with a shower, and shove him under the spray. It must not be warm enough because he jerks away from it, trying to cling to one of the lab techs. The man roughly pulls his arms away and shoves him back under the spray, making sure the water washes over his head and hair. 

Something clenches inside Rumlow’s chest as he watches the harsh treatment. He repeatedly tells himself the asset is not a person. He’s a machine, a weapon, just a thing. But that’s not what he sees. He sees someone who is cold, touch-starved, and seeking warmth. Yet no one is willing to show him pity or kindness.

He looks away and clenches his teeth. It’s too much for him to watch.

“I’ll be back in a few hours. He’ll be ready by then?”

The scientist nods.

He begins to consider who he wants to bring on the mission. He’ll need men who will listen to him, and take orders well, preferably with lots of field experience. That means no newbies. But no one more experienced than him, otherwise they’ll end up fighting for leadership.

David Stamm is the closest person he has to a friend in this organization. He came in two years after Rumlow himself. He’s good in the field, works hard, and follows orders well. He’d be a good man to take.

Victor Ferguson is one of the toughest guys he knows. Vicious. Willing to do whatever it takes for HYDRA. Loyalty is always a good trait to have.

Nigel Marsden, a dark skinned man with tactical talent, and a mind for following orders. Hasn’t fucked up yet. And he’s come close to beating Rumlow the few times they boxed. That’s good enough for him.

Riley O’Neill, doesn’t say much, but he’s the best damn shot Rumlow’s ever seen, aside from the asset, of course.

He finds them all in the training room and pulls them in for a meeting. He briefs them about the mission and the asset. He gives them all the main points. The asset is a weapon that’s undergone extensive programming and calibration. No talking to the asset unless it’s a direct order. The asset is HYDRA most dangerous and valued weapon. Anything goes wrong on the mission and it’ll be their lives on the line. The asset is worth a lot more to the organization than they are.

They accept his words without question.

To them the asset has been nothing more than rumor drifted down from higher-ups. There's admiration in their voices when they find out he's worked with the asset before.

He tells them to get cleaned up and be ready to go in a couple hours.

He goes to get ready himself. There’s plenty of time. So he decides to throw a couple punches at a boxing bag. He hits the bag until his arm aches and his fingers are swollen. It’s nothing new for him, except he keeps seeing the asset in his mind. He’s cold and shivering, weakly being herded around like a pet. Nothing like the vicious, brutal soldier he saw in the field three years ago. This is what they did to him.

He hits the bag until he physically can’t anymore. And then he picks himself up, takes a shower, and gets ready for the mission.

He meets the others in the tactical prep room, where they’re outfitting themselves for the mission. The asset is there, waiting for them. The others stare at him wearily. It’s the first time they’ve laid eyes on the asset, and Rumlow remembers himself the experience.

The asset’s eyes flicker to him. His gaze is hard and icy. No pain, no recognition whatsoever. He’s wearing the same leather tactical gear as the last time, tight and constraining on his torso, showing off the metal arm with the red star. HYDRA’s greatest weapon. 

“The target’s in Boston?” Marsden asks him as he checks his personal firearm and places it securely into his holster.

“We caught her around North End. We think she’s hiding out there, until she can get out of the country.” He sneaks a glance at the asset. “Here’s how it works: we find her, the asset kills her. End of story.”

“Still can’t believe we’re taking down Morgan. She’s fucking hot.”

Rumlow rolls his eyes, and they head out to the garage. It’s a good seven hour drive to Boston.

They take two cars. Ferguson, Marsden, and O’Neill in one, Rumlow and Stamm in the other, with the asset riding in the back.

Rumlow gets in the driver seat, looks around to make sure the others are out of earshot before turning to the backseat where the asset is sitting much too still. They watch each other silently for a few moments, before Rumlow opens his mouth. “You remember me?” He asks. It’s a long shot. But…

The asset stares at him blankly.

“Of course not.” He mutters to himself turning back to his front.

Stamm climbs into the passenger seat. He throws his bag into the back next to the asset, and they’re off.

“So he’s really the Winter Soldier, huh?”

Rumlow nods, feeling just a smidge of pride and smugness, because yes, he’s one of a small handful of people who has worked with the Winter Soldier and seen him in action. The great, feared Winter Soldier, the stuff of legend, and myth to those who don’t know any better.

“A Russian assassin taking out a Russian spy.” Stamm says with a short laugh. “Never a dull day at work, man.”

“We’re going to need to find her first. We know she’s hiding somewhere in Boston. It’s a big city.”

“Why didn’t you grab a bigger crew? It’s a lot of ground to cover with only the five of us.”

“I’d rather do more work with people I trust than rely on deadbeats to get the job done.” He says dryly.

“Aww thanks.” Stamm mocks him jokingly. “You’re making me blush. Good to know you think I’m one of the competent ones.”

The rest of the trip passes with easy conversation between them. The asset, of course, stays as silent as he ever is. By the time they arrive they’ve nearly forgotten he’s in the van with them.

Their final destination is a shabby motel at the edge of the North End neighborhood in Boston. They rent out two rooms for the next three days. Hopefully, the mission doesn’t take any longer than that.

He lays back on one of the beds as the others get to work setting up the computer that will help track Valentina Allegra de Fontaine. They’ve got image recognition software hooked up to every camera in the city. If she makes an appearance, they’ll know about it.

He doesn’t bother helping the others. He was never very good at the technical stuff.

“Done!” Marsden states. “All we’ve got to do is wait.”

Rumlow glances at his watch. 8:47 PM. His stomach grumbles painfully.

“You guys want to grab dinner?”

The others agree heartily.

They all stand and suddenly Rumlow feels awkward because the asset is watching them with sharp, hooded eyes.

“Here,” he hands him a radio. “Hold this button to speak,” he shows him. He points to the monitor they have set up on the desk. “If anything goes off, you let us know, okay?”

The asset nods, but doesn’t move. He stares blankly at screen, unblinking and unwavering.

Rumlow nearly rolls his eyes. “You can sit down, you know.” He points towards the bed, and after a moment, the asset moves.

They only go across the street. The place has good burgers and plenty of beers on tap. All in all it’s a nice evening, no sign from the asset.

It’s late when Stamm and Rumlow get back to their room. And they find the asset staring at the computer screen, sitting on the edge of the bed in front of it like he hasn’t moved in the past four hours. This is very likely the case.

They both collapse onto their respective beds.

Stamm passes out immediately.

Rumlow watches the asset through hooded eyes. The alcohol’s gone to his brain, and the room spins as gazes at the back of the asset’s head.

“Go sit in the armchair.” He says softly. “It’s more comfortable.”

The asset moves to his new position.

His eyes are slowly adjusting to the dark. Now, he can see the asset’s face. The asset quietly observes him from the armchair. The cold, dead gaze should make him feel uncomfortable, but it doesn’t.

“You can sleep if you want,” he murmurs. There’s no response, and a few minutes later, his own eyes slip shut and he falls into a drunken slumber.

*

Bright, blue eyes is the first thing he sees the next morning. The sunlight shines through the curtains, illuminating the asset’s face as he sits silently.

He slowly sits up and rubs his eyes with both hands. There’s the faintest throbbing in his head. He goes to rummage through one of his bags, grabbing a bottle of water and immediately downing half of it.

He turns towards the asset, whose blank gaze flickers towards him, like he’s the most interesting thing to look at in the past twelve hours. He still has yet to speak a single word. Rumlow is struck by a sudden desire to hear the soft, low voice he remembers. He ignores it and throws the asset a fresh water bottle of his own, along with a packet of MREs. “Eat,” he orders.

The asset does as he’s told without question, like he’s the world’s quietest, most deadly, obedient zombie.

An hour later, the rest of the men are on their feet. Rumlow’s showered, and he’s ready to hunt down a missing Russian spy. They’re all eating take out breakfast from the Denny’s next door when a loud beeping from the laptop has the men turning their heads.

“We got a hit,” Marsden says. He messes around with the program for a second. “Shopping district. ATM caught her face four minutes ago.”

“Alright, finish up boys.” Rumlow shoves a large piece of bacon in his mouth. “We’re heading out.”

There’s a rushed scramble as they simultaneously try to finish their breakfast and leave for the mission. Rumlow grabs his firearm, easily concealable under his jacket, and puts his earpiece on, before grabbing the keys from the desk.

Rumlow and Stamm jump into their van and quickly take off.

“You got the GPS?”

“Yup, got it right here,” Stamm replies. “Estimated time says twelve minutes.”

“That’s too long,” Rumlow mutters, pressing his foot harder on the gas.

They get to location and the target is nowhere in sight.

“Spread out, find her.” Rumlow says to all of them “Hopefully she didn’t get too far in fifteen minutes.”

They’re in the touristy part of town. Lots of restaurants and cafés, most of them Italian. It’s early in the day, but there are still plenty of people bustling about. He sees an upscale clothing shop and decides it’s as good a shot as any. He goes in, scanning the room. He doesn’t see her, but the women behind the register do give him a strange look and he quickly leaves, scowl on his face.

It’s like looking for a tall, dark haired needle in a haystack.

He keeps walking, checking the entire street, before heading to the next.

“I think I’ve got her,” O’Neill’s voice comes over his earpiece.

“Where are you?”

“Corner of Hanover and Richmond. She just came out of a café.”

“Keep your eye on her. We’re going to get the cars and we'll meet you there.”

“She’s fucking shopping,” O’Neill complains after a few minutes.

“As long as she doesn’t see you and start running, I don’t care what she does.”

They wait idly in their cars, eyes scanning the shops on the street.

“There she is,” Stamm hits him in the arm.

He sees a familiar tall, dark haired woman coming out of one of the shops, several shopping bags in one hand, and an iced coffee in the other. Large, dark sunglasses cover half her face, but he still recognizes her.

“Hello Agent Morgan,” he says softly.

“What’s her real name?”

“Ehh, Valentina something…”

O’Neill comes out of the shop a minute later, sees them across the street and climbs into the back seat.

“Good job, O’Neill.”

The other man nods.

They watch as she hails down a cab and gets in.

Rumlow touches his earpiece, “Alright guys, we’re going to tail her. Keep a good distance.” They follow the cab until they reach an upscale apartment complex, and watch as she exits, bags in hand.

“She must be hiding out here,” Stamm says.

“Ferguson, Marsden, I want to you follow her. If she goes into an apartment, I want to know which unit.” He looks around the complex. It’s quiet, up-scale, and residential. Probably a good place to lay low if you’re a fugitive hiding from two powerful organizations.

“Top floor,” Ferguson says over the headset. “Apartment 609.”

Rumlow writes down the address on a piece of scrap paper. “Gotcha, bitch.”

“Alright, we want to make sure she doesn’t try to get away. I want eyes on every entrance to the building.” He looks around quickly, swinging his head back and forth. “That building there.” He points to another one in the complex. “Check the roof, see if you can get a good look into her apartment. If she leaves, you follow her. I’m going to get the asset, and get him prepped. This is going down as soon as it gets dark. Let me know if she does anything suspicious. Let’s remember she’s a trained spy. Don’t want her pulling one over on us.”

The other two nod at his orders and wordlessly get out of the car.  

Rumlow quickly makes his way back to the motel. When he steps into the room, the asset is still sitting in the chair. Open food containers, and remnants of their unfinished breakfast are still spread all over the room. The whole place smells like old bacon and syrup.

He glances down at his watch. They’ve got at least six and a half hours until sundown.

“Ready for your mission?” He asks casually as he picks up all their food containers and places them in the trash.

The asset doesn’t answer, but Rumlow swears his eyes widen and focus a bit at the word ‘mission’.

He opens his bag and rummages for the mission folder he was handed. He pulls out a picture of the woman and hands it to the asset. “That’s your target.” The asset looks at it with sharp eyes. When he looks back up at him, Rumlow’s almost shocked by the intensity of the blue in his eyes. It’s the first time they’ve been so close since the last mission. Rumlow swallows the lump in the throat. “She’s a Russian spy, well-trained and dangerous.” _Kind of like you._ “Maybe you guys know each other.” It’s a joke that falls flat. Even if they did meet at one point, it’s not like the asset would remember.

He sighs and decides to prepare for the mission instead. The asset’s definitely not a great talker. He pulls open the single bag that came with the asset. He takes his time to set out each gun and its holster. There’s half a dozen knives, a single assault rifle, and of course, the mask.

The asset watches his movements from his seat. Stamm’s bed is half covered by weapons by the time he’s done. He lies back on the other bed and stares blankly at the wall for a moment.

“You hungry?” He asks suddenly. There’s no answer. “I’m hungry.” He reaches for the small stack of take out menus sitting on the nightstand next to him.

“How do you feel about pizza?” The asset stares at him blankly. He probably doesn’t even know what pizza is, let alone ever had it. “Can’t go wrong with pizza,” he mutters to himself as he reaches for the phone, too lazy to go pick it up himself. He thinks about the guys watching the target. They’ll have to go for lunch and bathroom breaks in shifts. He smirks, thankful he’s not one of them.

The pizza arrives twenty minutes later. “You want some?”

The asset lifts his head but doesn’t respond.

“Come on, a guy like you can’t seriously live off of those disgusting MREs.” He sets the large pizza on the bed and opens it. The smell of fresh pepperoni fills the room, and his mouth waters. “Come on, grab a slice,” he urges. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Slowly the asset gets up and comes closer. He walks slowly like a predator, and it’s a little unnerving. He sits down on edge of the bed, facing Rumlow, the giant pizza box between them. He’s reaching for a slice when Rumlow glances down at the metal arm.

“Take that glove off, you’ll get pizza grease all over it,” Rumlow says with a mouthful of pizza, nodding to the fingerless glove on the metal hand.

The asset does as he’s told. He finally grabs a slice, and imitates the other man, holding it by the crust, sticking the pointy end in his mouth. He takes a large bite.

The warm, melted, greasy cheese fills his mouth, salty and delicious, on top of the freshest, crunchiest crust. The tomato sauce spills over onto his tongue when he bites, and he lets out the softest moan that makes Rumlow stop mid-chew. He stares at him, mouth gaping open.

The asset sits, eyes closed. He’s not even chewing; he’s just sitting there, lips closed, clearly having an existential moment. When he opens his eyes, they’re glassy and moist. Rumlow’s half afraid the guy’s about to break down in tears.

“You like it?”

Slowly, the asset nods, and finishes chewing his food. He takes another large bite, moaning again when the flavor continues to fill his mouth.

Rumlow shifts uncomfortably, because the sounds are going straight to his dick, and watching the asset lick his red lips after each bite isn’t helping at all. Jesus, when’s the last time this guy had real food? It’s a depressing thought when he realizes it was probably before he was even born.

The asset eats three more slices, with permission of course. His eyes are softer when he looks at him again, much less of the ‘nobody’s home’ blankness.

“Thank you,” he says softly. His voice is rough from disuse.

Rumlow nods.

The next couple hours go by slowly. The asset takes to his seat again, staring off blankly, retreating into his mind somewhere. Rumlow decides television is a good way to pass the time. Of course daytime television sucks and his eyes end up flickering to the asset, watching him sit in silence, wondering what’s going on in that head of his.

He finally decides it’s time and they begin to prepare for the mission. They’ve been getting hourly updates from the team. The target hasn’t left the apartment and there’s been little sign of her.

Rumlow outfits the soldier with his weapons. Two pistols at his sides, and various knives hidden all over his person. He carefully places the dark mask on the asset’s face, brushing his hair back so it doesn’t get caught in the straps. For a moment he relishes the feeling of the soft hairs as his fingers brush through it. Lastly he places a heavy assault rifle into his hands.

It seems like a bit of overkill to take down a single person, but what does he know.

Looking at the soldier, images of their previous mission flash into his mind. And he’s reminded of the blood and violence that the soldier brings. No order without pain.

“These are silencers.” He grabs one and shows the asset how to attach and remove it from the rifle in his hands. There are two more for the pistols. “Make sure you use them. We’re not trying to attract a whole lot of attention, got it?”

The asset nods.

“It should be an easy mission, in and out. You do know how to be discreet right? It’s not going to be like last time where you can just walk out of a bloodbath. We’re in a residential area with civilians, witnesses. Make sure you’re not seen by anyone.”

The asset doesn’t speak or nod, Rumlow just has to assume he understands. It’s probably all programmed into his head anyway. He says it’ll be a simple mission, but there’s probably more to it than a simple kill. After all, they did call in the asset to do the job.

Valentina Allegra de Fontaine is a Russian trained spy. She’s got a better chance against the Winter Soldier than anyone else. He’s not concerned of course. He remembers what the soldier can do. But he is looking forward to seeing him in action one more time. Who knows when his next opportunity may be.

“Let’s go.”

As they’re on their way, Rumlow contacts the others. “What’s your location?”

“O’Neill and I are on the roof of the adjacent building. We’ve got a good look into her apartment. The others are posted at the exits.”

“Alright, I’ve got the asset. Our ETA is ten minutes.”

Sure enough, they find Stamm and O’Neill on the roof of the next building, well hidden in the dark of the night.

“Where is she?”

O’Neill points to an open window. The curtains are nearly completely open. However, the lights in the room are dim. Still, the majority of the room is nearly visible when looking through binoculars.

“You guys got a pretty good view up here. What’s she been doing all night?”

“Haven’t been able to get a good look at her. She’ll come into view every once in a while though, so we know she hasn’t left.”

“Alright, show time.” Rumlow turns to the asset, who looks painfully ready to get the job done. “Remember, don’t let civilians see you. No witnesses.”

His eyes may be playing tricks on him, but he swears the asset raises his eyebrows and gives him an exasperated look. A moment later it’s gone and the asset turns and runs towards the edge of the roof, jumping off a seven story building into the darkness of the alley.

“Holy shit!” Stamm exclaims under his breath.

“Shut up, man. I told you he was good,” he says with a smirk. The asset is fast. A flash of silver is all he sees, and the soldier’s inside.

“Asset is in location,” he says through the radio for Ferguson and Marsden. Stamm hands him an extra pair of binoculars and he holds them up to look into the target’s apartment.

It’s still and quiet. There’s no sign of her. A feeling in his gut tells him that she knows they’re coming for her, and she’s ready.

They can only see about half of the apartment from their view. The asset finally comes into view, moving like a shadow. His has his rifle up. They can’t see where he’s aiming, but he’s firing the weapon. There’s no sound thanks to the silencer, but they see flashes of light from the muzzle flash illuminate the room.

The target’s in action. She leaps from her position, striking the rifle away with her foot. Rumlow squints into the binoculars. It looks like she’s got a knife in one hand. It doesn’t meet its mark though. The asset blocks blow after blow. A backhand sends her several feet back. He pulls out a handgun, and Rumlow watches as he fixes a silencer onto it.

The target pulls out a gun of her own. She fires several shots at him, each of which is blocked by his metal arm. Rumlow groans as the shots ring out loudly, reverberating throughout the building. “Great,” he mutters. “So much for a covert operation.”

She dodges his return fire—she throws something at him and the room fills with smoke. The asset turns, whipping his head as he looks for his target through the haze. She comes at him from behind. In the scuffle he drops his weapon.

Rumlow winces when he sees her taser him in the neck. It doesn't seem to affect him much. He twists her arm back painfully with his metal hand, and hits her in the face with the other. With a powerful kick she goes flying back, hitting the wall and falling gracelessly to the floor.

She’s down, cowering away from the asset. Even from a distance, Rumlow can see her struggling to sit up. She’s done. The asset reaches for his fallen weapon with his metal arm. The pistol is raised towards her.

She’s fumbling with something in her hand. He can’t get a good look at it. He only blinks and suddenly the whole building goes dark. He nearly drops the binoculars in his hands in shock. Everything’s gone dark.

“What the hell happen?” Stamm stammers next to him.

He switches on the night vision and frantically presses the binoculars to his face. With the entire building dark, it takes him a moment to find the right window. She’s gone from sight, a moment of darkness is all she needed to get away.

The asset is still. He’s staring down at his metal arm, where it lays limp and heavy by his side. It’s still, unmoving, and no longer functional. The gun is decidedly absent, probably fallen to the ground.

The asset looks up, confused.

“EMP blast,” Rumlow whispers under his breath. “Oh fuck.”

The asset turns his head, now having to rely on hearing alone. At the last minute, he catches movement, just as the target charges at him. She’s got a blade in her hand, she brings it down, and he blocks the strike with his human arm, his only arm at the moment. He backhands her across the face and she stumbles back. Before she’s able to catch her footing, he’s got her by the throat. She tries to stab at him with the blade but he keeps her at arms length. She weakly swats at his armor, ineffective. He turns with her in his arm, pulls her close, and with a burst of strength, throws her body through the air. Glass shatters as she goes through the window, and her body falls six stories before it hits the ground with a sickening thud.

Mission complete.

Rumlow lets out a soft breath. The EMP blast had him worried for a second, but there was no doubt that she never really stood a chance against the soldier.

“Mission complete, we’re heading back.” He says into his earpiece. He hopes Ferguson and Marsden were far enough away from the building that their radios weren’t affected by the EMP blast.

The asset is still. He’s looking at his arm again, like he doesn’t understand what went wrong, he doesn’t understand why it’s not working.

Rumlow gets to his feet and heads for the stairway, eager to meet the asset on the way back. He hears the footsteps of the other two behind him. They’re out of the building, and he quickly crosses the empty street just in time to see the asset stumble out of the building. Stumble. Rumlow slows his pace, and watches with wide eyes. The asset is leaning heavily against the entrance of the building with his human arm. He looks up wearily when he sees Rumlow cautiously approach.

“Winter?” The name crosses his lips before he can take it back.

He gets no answer and steps forward. There’s a heavy wheezing coming through the asset’s mask. He reaches into the mess of the asset’s hair, quickly undoing the straps, and removing it from his face. The asset immediately takes large gasps of air as soon as his face is free. His eyes are wide and pained.

This is decidedly not normal.

“What’s wrong?” Rumlow asks, nearly in a panic. He scans the other man’s body, looking for a wound, but finds nothing out of the ordinary except for the still arm.

Winter looks up at him. His human arm is weakly clawing at his chest, fingernails scraping against the thick leather. He looks confused, like he doesn’t know what’s going on, he doesn’t know what he did wrong.

“System malfunction,” he says softly.

“What?”

Stamm and O’Neill come to a stop right behind Rumlow. They stare with wide eyes as the asset sways on his feet.

“System… syst…” He trails off and collapses, and Rumlow barely catches him before he hits the ground. He struggles to hold up the heavier man. The arm is more than dead weight.

“Guys, help me!”

Stamm awkwardly comes forward and grabs the asset by his metal arm, helping to hold him up.

“What the hell…?” There is no visible sign of injury, yet the asset is clearly not well.

He’s gasping and breathing rapidly, inhaling large gulps of air. Rumlow almost thinks he’s having a panic attack. The skin around his neck and face are quickly turning red.

He knows these symptoms. He’s seen it before.

It’s cyanide poisoning.

He glances down at the disabled metal arm, lying limp at the asset’s side. “Oh shit,” he murmurs.

Rumlow feels the blood drain from his face when he remembers that there’s a cyanide capsule located inside the arm, one big enough to take down a super soldier. It was something HYDRA had installed into the arm. A last resort in case the asset needed to be put down. The EMP blast must have shut off something in the arm, a safety perhaps, releasing a deadly dose of cyanide into his body.

“It’s cyanide poisoning.”

Stamm and O’Neill gape at him. The asset slowly lifts his head. His blue eyes are pained and heavy as he struggles to get oxygen in his body.

“Okay, come on, we’ve got to get out of here. Dead body tends to attract witnesses.” With Stamm’s help, they manage to get him walking towards the cars.

By the time they get there, Ferguson and Marsden are already waiting for him.

“What the hell happened to him?”

“I thought the mission was successful! Don’t tell me she took him out!”

“The target’s dead.” Rumlow says roughly, as he struggles to get the asset into the backseat of the van. “EMP blast triggered something in his arm. It’s cyanide poisoning.” He runs his hands through his hair and he tries to consider their options. Time is of the essence. “You two, take the other van, I need you to find an oxygen tank and a mask. We’re going to take him back to the motel, get packed, and get ready to head back to base.”

“Where the hell are we supposed to find an oxygen tank?” Ferguson asks.

“There’s an emergency room down the road, we passed it on the way here. Just fucking steal one.” He says as he’s climbing into the driver’s seat.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t just take him to the emergency room?”

“You want to take HYDRA’s fifty year old Russian assassin with a metal arm to the emergency room?”

The others don’t answer.

“Make it fast! You have ten minutes!” He starts the car and takes off without another glance. “How’s he doing?” He asks O’Neill, who’s sitting in the backseat with the asset.”

“Well, he’s breathing, and he’s conscious.”

That’s better than expected, honestly.

“Okay, we need to get him back to base, immediately. When we get there, grab your shit, and get it in the car.” He glances at the rearview mirror. The asset’s eyes are half lidded and he can see the heavy rise and fall of his chest.

“It’s a seven hour drive back to DC, he’s not going to make it!” Stamm says. “He needs medical attention, he needs a fucking hospital!”

“That’s not an option.”

“HYDRA will skin us alive if he dies on our watch.”

“I know that.” Rumlow says with a grimace. "Call headquarters, let them know what happened. Maybe they have another base near by."

“If he starts having a seizure or goes into cardiac arrest, there’s nothing we can do for him!” Stamm argues.

Rumlow doesn’t respond. He listens as O’Neill talks to an agent over the phone about the situation.

“Alright, they have a facility in Hartford that can treat him. If we drive quickly, we can make it in a little over an hour.”

“Thank god,” Rumlow murmurs, as he glances in the mirror again at the asset. He’s not looking much better, but he’s not looking worse either. _Just hold on, Winter._

When they get back to the motel, Rumlow carries him into the room, and drops him heavily onto one of the beds. The others scamper around, piling all their belongings into the car.

The asset watches him silently. He’s still pulling deep breaths into his lungs, trying to compensate for the fact that his cells aren’t metabolizing enough oxygen. His eyes are wide and pained, so different from blank look he’s used to seeing.

Rumlow glances down to where the asset is still clawing weakly at his chest. As if it might be hindering his breathing. He starts pulling at the straps that hold the armor together, pulling them apart, and throwing the heavy leather onto the floor. The asset’s skin feels clammy and warm underneath his fingers.

“What are you doing?”

“Making it easier for him to breath,” he says through gritted teeth. “Where the hell are Ferguson and Marsden?”

“They’re just pulling up now.” O’Neill shouts from outside.

“Thank god,” he whispers. “You’re going to be alright. Just hold on a little bit longer.”

The soldier’s blue eyes blink slowly. He doesn’t resist when Rumlow lifts his head, fitting the oxygen mask over his face. His eyes flutter close as he inhales the purified air.

“Come on, I’m going to get you into the car.” He carefully lifts the other man up onto his feet. He left side sags due to the extra weight of the arm. Together, they stumble outside, and the asset practically falls into the back seat. Rumlow places the small oxygen tank on the floor next to the feet and climbs in after him.

“Come on, try to sit up. Don’t lay on your front, it’ll make it harder to breath.” He murmurs. He manages to coax the asset into sitting upright, but a moment later he falls sideways onto Rumlow, his head lying on his shoulder.

A small smile graces his lips. “Well, whatever’s comfortable for you.”

“Am I driving?” Stamm sticks his head through the window. Rumlow nods and throws him the keys. “Keep him alive back there.”

“I’m trying,” he mutters.

Stamm drives quickly as O’Neill gives him directions to a small HYDRA base none of them have been to before, or even knew existed. As long as they have medical facilities to reverse cyanide poisoning that’s really all that matters.

Rumlow can feel each heavy breath that the asset draws. Each one gives him a slight comfort that the asset is still alive. He wonders if Valentina knew about the cyanide capsule in the arm, or if she was just trying to disable it to improve her chances. HYDRA will be glad the asset’s alive, but knowing now how resilient he is, they’ll probably increase the dose if they wish to use it as a failsafe again.

“Что моя миссия?” The asset’s voice brings him out of his thoughts.

“What was that?”

The asset lifts the mask slightly off his face. “Что моя миссия?” His voice is soft and gentle. _What’s my mission?_

“There’s no mission, soldier. You completed the mission.”

“Кто ты?” _Who are you?_

“My name's Brock. Brock Rumlow.” He says softly.

“Мне больно. Голова болит.”

He shakes his head. He doesn’t know that one. “You’re going to have to speak English, soldier.”

“My head hurts.”

“Just keep breathing, slow and steady.” He takes the asset’s hand in his own, and gently places the mask back on his face.

“We’ll get you fixed right up soon, real soon. Just hang on.” He doesn’t speak anymore, in case the two in the front seats gets suspicious and decides to blab on him to their bosses. They’re silent the rest of the way. The asset’s eyes slowly get more hooded as he struggles to open them after each slow blink. Rumlow presses his fingers to the asset’s neck, checking his pulse. It’s slow, much slower than he’s comfortable with. He grasps the soldier’s human hand, squeezing it tight, silently urging him to hold on.

“Drive faster,” is all he says.

By the time they get to the facility, the asset is passed out, unresponsive. The slow rising of his chest is the only indication he’s still alive.

The others help him get the asset inside. Immediately, the scientists get to work. Intravenous nitrites and thiosulfates are administered. It’s an antidote of oxidizing agents and will also convert the cyanide into something that can be broken down by the body, or so the scientists tell him.

The men in lab coats run some tests and analyze his vitals. “He’ll be fine in a day or so. It was definitely a lethal dose, but with his enhanced metabolism, he was able to withstand it. Good thing you got him here when you did. A normal person, probably would have been dead within minutes.” 

Rumlow nods his thanks and watches the asset where he lies on the medical bed. He’s still hooked up to an IV and he’s got a new oxygen mask on until he’s more stable. But he’s going to be fine.

He makes a call to Pierce to update him and to get orders.

“I heard there was a bit of a hiccup on the mission.”

“The target’s dead, but she released an EMP blast near the asset. It took out his arm, and triggered the release of cyanide into his system. We’re at the Hartford facility right now. The doctors say the asset will be fine in a day. No permanent damage.”

“That’s good. I’m glad to hear the asset managed to survive such a massive dose. We certainly underestimated his resilience. Have the asset back to main base by tomorrow.”

“Yes sir.” 

He hangs up the phone and heads to the waiting area where his team sits, bored and waiting for instruction.

“Why don’t you guys head back to base?” He says to them. “I’ll stick behind, bring the asset back tomorrow.”

They all look relieved. “You sure you don’t want some company?” Stamm asks, but Rumlow shakes his head, knowing he’s just trying to be nice.

“Nah, you guys go ahead. I’ll see you back at base in a day or two.”

They shuffle out, giving him a clap on the back as they go. “Good mission, guys.”

“The asset survived!”

Rumlow smiles as he looks at the sleeping man. The metal arm is still nonfunctional. They’ll have to wait until they get back to main base, and have the experts examine it. The asset sleeps peacefully for now. There’s a strange longing that pulls at the bottom of his stomach, and it clenches at all of his muscles, and it makes him want to pull the asset out of bed, shake him by the shoulders, and shout ‘who are you? do you even feel?’

He knows that the asset is more than just a machine. He’s more than just a weapon. He's seen it. He’s seen it in those beautiful, blue eyes. He wants to know how he became the asset. He wants to know who he was before the asset. He watches him for a while longer, long after the scientists have left the room. The asset lies warm and comfortable in the bed, and Rumlow thinks it’s such a contrast to the upright, cold, metal chamber that he’ll be returned to tomorrow. It makes him sad.

He doesn’t think for much longer. It’s late and he should really get some sleep. He finds an empty room with an uncomfortable bed and he tries to get some rest. It’s hard when all he can think about is the asset returning to his cold, metal prison.

He spends most of the next day wandering around town, trying to kill time before they have to drive back to DC. He spends most of it thinking about the soldier. Because of course he would develop this weird obsession with a dangerous man with a metal arm and his mind in pieces.

He returns to the facility and finds the soldier still laying in the bed. “Hey, how are you feeling?” Winter stares at him with dull eyes, tired, but no longer in pain. There is recognition though, and he almost looks happy to see him. “I brought something for you.”

He swings his bag around and opens it, pulling out a carton of fresh strawberries that he bought at a farmer’s market.

“You like strawberries?”

He looks at them like he’s never seen them before. His eyes swing up to meet Rumlow’s, his gaze full of curiosity.

He opens the carton and grabs a large piece of fruit, bringing it towards the asset. “Open,” he says gently. The asset’s lips fall open, and he presses the fruit between the plush lips. He slowly bites down, a trickle of juice dribbles down his chin.

Rumlow watches as his eyes slowly flutters close and a soft moan escape his lips. He smiles at the look of pure pleasure on his face. This is what he wanted to see. When his eyes open again, there’s a small bit of happiness there that he hadn’t seen up until now. He likes it.

“Here,” he pushes the plastic carton into the other man’s lap. “Enjoy it.” The corners of his mouth twitch upwards in a ghost of a smile, and he reaches for another strawberry with his human hand.

They share the fruit, and when they’re done, it’s time to head back to base.

It’s a long drive, made worse by traffic. The asset doesn't say a word. He knows where they're going.

He brings the asset back to the medical wing. They shove him into the chair and check his stats. One of the scientists examines the arm. The plates are pulled apart as he looks at the gears that have been eerily silent for the past day.

“It’s completely dead. We’re going to have to replace the motor and all the computer chips,” he grumbles.

“Do we have the parts?”

“Of course not, this thing is one of a kind. We’ll have to send it to manufacturing. It’ll take weeks to come in.” He shakes his head.

“But they want him frozen today.”

“Yeah,” the guy rubs his neck. “Alright, put an order in for the parts that we need. We’ll do the installation next time he’s out of the freezer.” He pushes the plates of the arm back together. It’s dead weight at the asset’s side.

“Let’s wipe him.”

Rumlow watches the asset’s face as he hears the words. He sees sadness and resignation. Maybe he too was hoping the arm would buy him some extra time out of the box.

He accepts the mouth guard without question, lays back in the seat as the arm restraints close and the machines come to life around him. There’s raw, genuine fear in his eyes as the machines come closer.

Rumlow forces himself not to look away. He watches every moment, and listens to every torturous scream. Because if the asset has to endure it, the least he can do is watch. He watches with a lump in his throat and a tightening in his chest. He can barely breath until it’s over.

When the screaming stops, the asset is unresponsive. His face is blank and his eyes are dead.

The lab techs get him to his feet and strip him. They start pushing him towards the other room and Rumlow just has to speak up. “Wait. I’ll do it.”

They turn to him with eyebrows raised. “Seriously?”

He steps forward and takes the asset off their arms. “How about you get us some fucking soap this time?”

One of them holds his hands up defensively. “Alright, knock yourself out,” he says with a smirk. The other guy pushes a fresh bar of soap into his hands. They’re probably just glad they don’t have to fucking get wet for this.

Rumlow ushers the asset into the shower room. He strips his clothing and his boots, setting them off to the side so they don’t get wet.

The asset stares off in front of him, dead to the world. Rumlow slowly steps closer. He pulls him towards the showerhead, turning it on, and making sure the temperature is comfortably warm before pulling their bodies under it. He positions them so the asset is facing him, and tilts his head back towards the spray of water. The water runs over his long matted hair. He wishes he had some proper shampoo. Rumlow gently tries to work out the tangles.

He opens the fresh bar of soap and moistens it under the spray, forming a lather. He slowly, gently washes the asset’s body, and watches as the water washes away old dirt and sweat.

He tilts the other man’s head back again underneath the spray, and runs his fingers through the wet strands, trying to get his hair as clean as he can without shampoo. He gently massages his scalp as the water runs over them, and the asset lets out a soft moan. Rumlow’s fingers pause in shock. It’s the first indication that he’s aware of what’s going on around him. It probably feels good after getting his scull shocked by painful volts of electricity. Rumlow continues his gentle scalp massage, soothing his battered nerves, and he watches the asset’s face as he lets out another soft moan, eyes closed and red lips parted.

He suddenly becomes very aware of just how close they are, and the fact that he’s standing inches away from a very wet, very naked, gorgeous body.

His dick grows hard between his legs. He groans as it throbs painfully, aching for attention. He bites his lips as he watches the other man's face. Before he knows what he's doing, he pushes the soldier back until the man hits the wall behind him. The spray no longer hits them directly. His head drops forward and his eyes open. They’re dark and empty. They certainly don’t carry the small bits of personality that he was privileged with seeing before.

Rumlow’s hands slowly fall from his head, down his face, stroking gently. His cock begs for attention and he presses it between the asset’s legs, thrusting between the hard muscle. The friction between their bodies feels so good.

“Shhhh,” he leans forward and whispers in his ear. “It’s okay.”

He kisses him, soft and gentle. He tastes like strawberries, sweet and tangy.

“Just let me hold you,” he whispers, and he kisses him again and again. His hands run down the asset’s muscled body. “Just let me touch you. Just let me…” He trails off when his hand wraps around his cock and he squeezes it. He thrusts hard into his own hand. “Oh Winter,” he gasps. He presses their lips together again as he tries to stifle his moans. He’s achingly close to cumming, and his other arm pulls their bodies closer together. His tongue runs over Winter’s soft lips, before delving inside. He tastes so sweet and soft.

He doesn’t want this to end. Because he knows as soon as it does, they’re going to take him away. They’re going to lock him up in a cold chamber, and put him away somewhere he can’t find him. And he won’t know when or if he’ll ever see him again.

His stomach clenches and his legs feel weak. His hand is stroking himself faster, twisting just the way he likes, and he cums moaning into Winter’s mouth, hot spurts of cum covering his legs and genitals. As he slowly comes down from his high, he collapses against the other man, burying his face in Winter’s neck. He feels warm.

After a long moment, he lifts his head and steps back. He watches the other man and fucking hates the blank look he sees on Winter’s face.

He pulls him forward and into the spray of water again, turning him around to face it so it’ll wash away the semen covering his front.

When they’re both clean, he turns off the spray and grabs a couple of towels hanging by the side. He gently dries them both off and puts his own clothes back on.

He steps forward again and gently kisses the other man on the lips. He hopes they don’t look too red. Wouldn’t want anyone to get suspicious and realize he had just masturbated on and jizzed all over HYDRA’s prized asset.

The asset will be the death of him.

“It’s time,” he says softly, and he gently strokes his face one last time. “I’m sorry, Winter.”

He walks him back out to the main room, and the scientists give him a look like ‘what took so damn long?’

“You give him a real thorough washing?” One of them asks with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

Rumlow scowls at him and resists the urge to punch him in the face.

“Just put him away.”

The cryo chamber is opened, and the asset pushed inside. They go through the same motions as before, and the asset is frozen again. He’s cold, empty, and alone.

One of the lab techs comes over and tapes a sign on the front of the cryo chamber.

MAINTENANCE REQUIRED

Death would be better than this, he thinks.

 


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three: in which the asset is kept out too long.

**Three: 2003**

 

He’s twenty-eight years old, and there are few things that he truly appreciates in this world. The soft whimpers and aching moans that escape the lips of bed partners when he’s fucking them, the feeling of a curvy woman or muscled man underneath his hands, and of course, brilliant blue eyes that he can get lost in after the stress of a long day.

He’s not looking for anything serious right now. He’s still young and his life is far too hectic and unpredictable to be settling down any time soon. Just a warm body next to him at night is enough to keep him satisfied.

Speaking of warm bodies, his dark eyes gaze over the bare chest of the now thawed Winter Soldier as he sits in his chair, a scientist hunched over the open plates of his metal arm, tinkering with the inner mechanisms.

The soldier’s blue eyes flicker over to him. His gaze is sharp and unwavering, and it causes a shiver to run down his spine. The soldier has been thawed for a few days, clearly. The blankness and terror that he saw four years ago when he witnessed the soldier being taken out of cryo freeze is no longer present. All the necessary components of the metal arm have been replaced and all the appropriate tests run. The asset is fully functional and ready for the mission. 

The scientist finishes his work and the plates of the arm snap shut with a screech of metal. Rumlow watches as the asset stands and allows the technicians to dress him in his leather tactical uniform. His sharp eyes never leave Rumlow’s face. It should probably make him feel uncomfortable, but it doesn’t. Is it possible the asset actually recognizes him?

Winter steps forward until he’s standing directly in front of him.

The other men in the room bustle about, ignoring them in favor of their own work.

“The target is a Russian politician, Sergei Yushenkov. We leave in a few hours,” Rumlow says to him.

Winter gives him a small nod. Slowly, his eyes flicker down to his lips.

Rumlow’s own eyes widen. Does he remember? A red flush spreads across his cheeks as he remembers what he did to Winter when they last met four years ago. Embarrassment fills him. His actions were completely inappropriate and he had tried not to think about them in the years that followed. He’d always assumed the other man was too far out of it after his wipe to recall anything that was happening to him. A small twinge of guilt hits him.

But Winter doesn’t say any more and they turn to leave together.

One of the scientists calls out to him just before they leave. “He’s already on day three. His max time out is two weeks. Make sure you get him back here before then.”

Rumlow nods and fights the urge to roll his eyes. Like this is his first mission with the asset, he scoffs. He continues towards the door. The other man follows a step behind him like a dog.

 

_Day 5 of asset in operation._

Rumlow removes the heavy lock from the door and pulls it open. The heavy, rusted metal screeches unpleasantly throughout the dim corridor. Their current location is an abandoned bunker in Moscow, Russia. They keep the asset in the furthest room in the basement. It’s the only room with a lock, and it makes the rest of the team feel more comfortable. Most of them are uneasy around HYDRA’s asset, even if they’ll never admit to it.

He enters the room and his eyes fall on the soldier, sitting on the ground with his back to the far wall, head dropped. He glances up at the other man’s entrance. Rumlow steps forward and kneels down, placing a packet of MREs and a bottle of water in front of the other man.

“Eat,” he commands.

The asset complies.

“The target’s at a conference in Yekaterinburg.” He’s probably saying it wrong, but he doesn’t really care. “He’s expected to be back in Moscow in less than a day. Think you can handle it?”

The asset looks at him, blue eyes sharp and steady, and he nods wordlessly.

Rumlow quietly watches him as he eats. He slowly sits down on the dirty floor a few feet away.

Neither of them speak as the asset eats his meal. Rumlow watches his face, studying its every feature. It’s emotionless as he eats, but there’s a flash of something behind his eyes, they’re not as empty as he remembered. He wants to ask whether or not he remembers. He thinks back to the feeling of his hands running through those dark strands. He wants to feel the smoothness of his skin, and squeeze the hard muscle under his hands. He wants to taste those soft, plump lips again.

But he doesn’t. Because the asset is staring at him with cold, dead eyes, and it causes the smallest twinge of fear to run through him.

 

_Day 8 of asset in operation._

“Target eliminated.”

The asset holds out his sniper rifle. Rumlow takes it out of his hands, and hands it off to Rollins. He looks the asset up and down, checking for injuries. There’s nothing out of the ordinary. He came back looking the same as when he left.

 “Let’s head home, boys.” He says to his team.

They busy themselves, packing their bags, making sure nothing gets left behind. Standard protocol. The asset stands in the middle of the room as the others work around him. The others send him weary glances and make sure to give him a wide berth.

“Hey, I think we’ve got a problem.”

Rumlow looks up. “What are you talking about?”

Harper nods towards his computer screen. “We’re about to be hit by a blizzard. There’s supposed to be record snowfall. I’m not sure we can fly in this.”

Rumlow walks over and squints at the screen. “Fuck,” he curses under his breath. “Can we make it out in time?”

Harper shrugs. “Given the size of our plane, honestly, I’d say it’d be best not to risk it.”

Rumlow sighs. He glances over at the asset, whose dark eyes are watching him again. “Fine. We’ll wait it out. Keep an eye on that radar, we leave as soon as it’s clear.”

The others have ceased their packing and have settled down again, accepting the fact that they would be stuck here for a few more days.

“Come on,” Rumlow motions to the asset. The asset follows him silently. He puts him back in his room.

 

_Day 10 of asset in operation._

“Storm of the fucking century,” Rumlow grumbles to himself.

The asset is agitated. He sits on the floor, head twitching at the slightest movement, his eyes are wide and feral.

Rumlow can see the jerky movement of his chest as he takes short, rapid breaths. It’s enough to make him nervous.

“What’s wrong with you?”

The asset’s head snaps up at the sound of his voice.

“Awaiting mission protocol.”

Rumlow shakes his head. “There is no mission. You completed the mission. Remember?”

The asset shakes his head. His hair flies wildly around his face. “Awaiting mission protocol,” he repeats, his voice sounds strained. His breaths get quicker, and Rumlow slowly steps forward. With his hands held out like he doesn’t want to spook him, he drops to his knees in front of the asset.

“Calm down. It’s okay. We’re stuck in a blizzard for a few days. We’ll be back to base soon. The mission was successful.” His words seem to calm the other man.

“Target eliminated,” the soldier whispers. His eyes drop to the ground.

“Yeah,” Rumlow agrees. “Target eliminated.”

Somehow, he has moved closer to the asset. They’re sitting mere inches apart. Rumlow’s eyes glance down and fall to the other man’s lips. Absentmindedly, he licks his own. A rush of desire surges through him, and his shaky hands reach up to the other man’s face. Oh, what is he doing…

He strokes his cheek gently, and his other hand runs through the soft, dark strands of hair. He's telling himself to stop, except Winter leans into his touch. His eyes slip shut, his neck relaxes, and he becomes soft and pliant, like putty in his hands. He’s so fucking touch starved.

Rumlow feels a stirring in his pants, and his heart rate picks up. He nervously watches the other man. Winter opens his eyes and he’s taken aback by the brightness of the blue orbs. Even in the dim light of the room, he’s beautiful. He swallows the lump in his throat, and hesitantly, he leans closer until their lips gently touch. And all of a sudden, it’s like the other man comes alive under his touch. Winter grips him in his hands and pulls him down and closer. The metal hand wrapped around his upper, right arm is nearly tight enough to hurt.

Winter parts his lips, his tongue roughly probes into Rumlow’s mouth, and he pulls their bodies closer yet. He’s pushing and pressing, and Rumlow’s thighs ache from the awkward position he’s kneeling in. An embarrassing yelp escapes him when he nearly falls over backwards from the force of the other man. And he’s jolted back into reality.

“Whoa, whoa wait.” He says when their mouths finally part. He manages to push himself up and he puts a few inches of space between them. “What are we doing?”

The other man stares at him with wide eyes. His lips are red and swollen, and he looks so fucking debauched, and god what he would give to have those lips on every inch of his body. The soldier looks so desperate, needy, and filled with desire, and its all Rumlow can do to not take advantage of it and just ravage the other man.

He reaches for him again, but Rumlow shakes his head and moves out of the way. “No. We can’t,” he whispers. The other man has the audacity to look hurt. “This is so fucking wrong,” he mutters as he gets to his feet.

He casts one last look at the asset before he leaves the room, and locks the door behind him. He has to adjust himself in his pants and count to ten before he makes his way upstairs again.

 

_Day 11 of asset in operation._

It’s not that he wouldn’t give his left arm to fuck the Winter Soldier. One glance from the other man is enough to make the front of his pants uncomfortably tight. But he does have a conscience, and it’s been nagging him for four years.

The soldier is a programmed machine, without any will or conscience of his own. He’s not a person capable of making his own decisions. He’s got enough problems as it is.

Rumlow goes down to see the asset, and give him his daily meal. If possible, the asset looks even worse than he did the day before. His hair is a tangled mess, like he’s been pulling at it with his hands. He’s pacing madly when Rumlow enters the room.

Although he does seem to calm down at the sight of the other man. His presence is enough to calm him and he stills. They sit together, a few feet apart. Rumlow orders him to eat, and he watches him carefully, trying to dissect every motion, trying to understand how he works.

He’s got nothing better to do, so he sits with the asset. He figures if his presence helps him, he’ll stay. They sit, quietly. An hour passes without a word between them, and then another. Rumlow’s nearly drifted off when he hears the other speak.

“Where is he?”

Rumlow looks up when he hears Winter’s soft voice. His eyes are flickering from side to side. There’s a lost, frantic look in his eyes, and his breath is coming out in short gasps.

“Who?”

“Where is he?” Winter asks again, as if he didn’t even hear the other man.

“Who are you talking about?”

Winter shakes his head. His brows are furrowed in confusion and he looks lost. “It’s so cold… He’s cold. I have to… keep him warm.” He murmurs. “He’ll catch pneumonia again. I need to…”

It slowly dawns on him that he’s watching a break in the asset’s programming. He’s mumbling about snippets from his previous life. “Who are you talking about?” He asks again, wearily. He’s almost afraid of the answer.

Winter blinks. “I… I have to find him. He needs me.”

Rumlow swallows hard. This is not the Winter Soldier. This is… whoever he was before, in another life. This is bad.

This is why HYDRA never lets him out for more than two weeks at a time. The wipe wears off, his mind heals, and he starts to remember. HYDRA’s greatest weapon becomes unpredictable and even more dangerous.

The asset is looking more frantic. Rumlow can see the muscles twitching in his human arm. His face is scrunched up in pain and confusion, and his breaths are quick and short, nearing a panic.

Rumlow slowly inches closer. He knows he needs to calm him. They are thousands of miles and at least half a day from the closest people who know how to contain and control the Winter Soldier. This was never in any manual HYDRA ever gave him.

“Listen to me, Winter, it’s going to be okay. I need you to calm down.”

The soldier glares at him. “That’s not my name,” he says through gritted teeth.

Rumlow feels the blood leave his face, and his heart pounds in fear, because did the asset just disobey an order?

“Okay,” he says softly. “What is your name?”

The soldier’s eyes fall, and he furrows his brow as he looks at nothing, trying to remember something he forgot so long ago. “I don’t know,” he whispers. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know,” he says under his breath like a mantra. His hands come up and grip large clumps of hair, twisting and pulling with both flesh and metal hand. It looks painful.

“Stop it, don’t do that.” And because he has a distinct lack of self-preservation, Rumlow moves forward to pull at the asset’s hands. Before he can register what’s happening, the asset backhands him across the face, hard enough to send him flying a few feet back.

It’s enough to have him seeing stars. He groans and lifts a hand to his aching jaw.

Thank god it wasn’t the metal arm, or he wouldn’t have a face anymore.

The asset doesn’t even look apologetic. His muscles are clenched like he’s ready for a fight. His chest heaves from his breaths, and he’s glaring at him as he lies on the ground.

Rumlow slowly sits up. No fast movements, he tells himself. He ignores his throbbing face and the voice that tell him he’s a complete moron, and moves closer.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, in what he thinks is a soothing voice. “It’s okay.”

The asset watches him angrily, but it doesn’t look like he’ll strike out again. Rumlow kneels down in front of him. Hesitantly, he reaches his hands out and rests them gently on the other man’s shoulders.

“It’s okay,” he whispers again. Winter watches him with wide eyes, looking so damn lost. His hands slowly, gently move upward and he runs them up Winter’s neck to finally caress the soft hairs at the base of his head. He can feel the other man slowly relax under his touch.

Winter lets out a soft breath and his eyes flutter shut. Rumlow pulls him into an embrace and Winter’s head drops onto his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, as he continues running his fingers through the other man’s hair, massaging his scalp.

Winter lets out a soft whimper, and damn him, because it sends vibrations straight to his dick.

Winter shifts against him. His head turns, and he can feel the other man’s stubble against his neck. Then his soft lips are pressing against him, and he lays warm, gentle kisses on his neck. A moan escapes him, and the other man pulls back.

Their eyes meet. He no longer sees panic or confusion in his eyes, instead there’s desire and lust, a raw, desperate need for human touch.

Rumlow leans forward and captures the other man’s lips with his own. Winter melts under his touch. He falls forward, and pulls their bodies closer. His hands clumsily grasp at Rumlow’s clothes, the metal hand can do no more than awkward pawing. He wants it, he needs it so badly, if the sounds coming from his disused voice are any indication.

Rumlow gives in. He pushes away all the concerns of his guilty conscience and tells himself they both want it. Maybe they both need it.

He barely has his t-shirt over his head when Winter’s lips attach themselves to his neck. A groan escapes him when the sucking sends tremors throughout his body. He suddenly remembers himself and he gives his shoulder a shake. “Hey, no visible marks, alright?”

Winter seems to comprehend that. He presses him down, flat on his back, and takes position on top of him. He brings his mouth back down, onto his chest this time, licking and sucking a wet trail down his muscular front. He’s shuddering from the coolness of the saliva and the warmth in the front of his pants.

“Oh, god Winter…”

Clumsy hands attempt to undo his belt. He has to favor his right hand to get the other’s pants down. Rumlow gasps when the cool air hits his swelling cock, quickly contrasting with the warm mouth that’s wraps around it. God, his mouth is warm and wet, and so fucking sinful, because there’s no way this is his first time sucking dick when he can do those wicked things with his tongue.

He’s panting and moaning, and he looks down to see a dark head of hair bobbing up and down on his cock. Beautiful, red lips wrap around his shaft like they were never meant for anything else.

His head spins from the pleasure, and he lets Winter bring him close to the edge before he stops him.

“Wait… wait, stop…” he pants.

Winter lifts his head. One last, slow stroke of his tongue along the underside of his shaft and the wonderful warmth is gone, leaving him feeling cold and empty. And he groans because it would have been so fucking easy to just cum down his throat.

But he wants more. He reaches out a shaking hand. “I want… get your damn clothes off.”

He pulls himself up into a sitting position, and tries to ignore the feeling of cold, hard ground on his ass. He reaches out and starts undoing the straps holding together the soldier’s leather uniform. He looks up when he realizes the soldier makes no motion to help him. How many years has it been since he was able to dress and undress himself? Instead he sits there, silent and docile, and watches as Rumlow continues to remove his clothes.

The pants and boots come off too, and the asset sits there as naked as the day he came out of cryo freeze. He’s as gorgeous as he was four years ago, of course. Firm muscle and smooth skin, and that lost puppy look on his face that he wants to smother with kisses. 

In a flash the rest of his own clothes are gone. And he pulls the other man down on top of him. The ground is cold on his bare back, but that thought quickly leaves his mind when he has the warmth of a naked body lying on top of him. Their lips meet again, and they suck and moan and whimper like dying men who just found water in the desert.

Winter’s metal arm is cold and unyielding, a sharp contrast to his warm flesh. But he doesn’t care because this man is so alive compared to what he experienced four years ago in a HYDRA facility shower.

There are soft moans coming from Winter’s lips. And he can feel the other man’s erection pressing against his legs, reminding him of his own. With a burst of strength he flips them over so he’s on top, looking down at the man whose wild hair is splayed out around his head.

He stops to catch his breath. Winter looks so fucking beautiful.

Is _he_ better than this?

No, he’s not. He never claimed to be a good man.

He grinds his pelvis down, and Winter practically keens beneath him. They’ve got nothing to use as lube. He puts two fingers in his mouth and thoroughly wets them. He sits back and pulls Winter’s legs up, gently pressing his index finger into the other man’s hole. He’s tight and the soldier lets out a soft moan as his body gives. Rumlow spits onto his fingers again, impatiently pressing one, then two fingers in. His body writhes on the ground, head thrown back, and chest rising breathily. God, his body was made for this.

Rumlow pulls his fingers out, spits a generous glob into his hand, and coats his achingly hard cock. It’s not nearly enough preparation, but he can’t wait any longer. He slowly pushes into the other man. Winter lets out a beautiful, throaty moan as his body stretches around him. Rumlow presses their mouths together to capture the sound. He thrusts rhythmically, moaning at how tight and hot the other man is, while the other whimpers beneath him.

The pleasure spreads from his groin throughout his body, numbing his mind to all else but the man underneath him. He’s embarrassingly close. He reaches between them, grabbing the soldier’s thick cock, stroking and twisting, rubbing the underside with his thumb.

Winter’s head is thrown back, eyes closed, and lips parted in the most sinful sight. Rumlow places kisses on the man’s bared neck, making sure to be gentle to leave no marks. Winter lets out a breathless, broken moan, and the sound is enough to send him over the edge, and he cums deep and shaking inside the other man’s body. A few seconds later Winter follows, and he spills hot, sticky semen between their bodies.

Once he’s able to catch his breath, Rumlow lifts his head to look at the other man. His eyes are closed, head laid back, looking more relaxed than he had ever seen him before.

Slowly Winter opens his eyes. He blinks lazily, and suddenly there’s a clarity in his blue orbs, like he’s seeing him clearly for the first time. “Who are you?” He asks softly.

Rumlow carefully moves off of him. “I’m Brock. Brock Rumlow,” he replies softly. “We’ve met before.”

Winter gives him a small smile, the first one he’s seen on him, and he wants to cherish it forever.

Rumlow sits up, and pulls the other man up with him. He attempts to clean them both off as best he can, and he has to dress them both, of course. Winter just sits and watches him, looking docile and relaxed.

When he’s done, Rumlow stands to leave. Neither of them speak. But Rumlow thinks something in him has changed, and he looks at the other man a little differently now.

When he’s upstairs, the others stare at the bruise on his face and ask what the hell happened down there.

“Asset’s compromised,” he says shortly.

He calls their base of operation. “We’ve been stuck in the storm for two days. The asset’s acting out. He’s agitated and erratic… He’s getting violent.”

“Well, usually when he’s out for this long, we give him drugs to keep him calm.” The voice is nonchalant and the words are completely useless.

“Well, what am I supposed to do _now?_   We won’t be back for another two days at least.”

He can practically hear the guy shrugging over the phone. “I don’t know, figure something out. Just keep him calm, keep him out of trouble.”

 

_Day 12 of asset in operation._

“I need to find him,” Winter murmurs. “He needs me.”

“You don’t even know who you’re talking about,” he says gently. He’s not trying to be cruel, but Winter’s life is no longer his own. And in another day they’ll be heading back to the states, where he’ll hand him over to the scientists and their chair. And they’ll strap him down, and wipe his mind in the most traumatic way possible. And Winter won’t even remember _him_ let alone someone from his previous life.

He feels Winter’s head fall, and the other man presses himself closer to his chest. Gently, he continues stroking Winter's hair. A wry smile forms on his face when he thinks of how much this man is like a child. He has the strength and brutality to take down every HYDRA operative who has ever lay hands on him, yet he lacks the will to do any of it. He’s like a dangerous dog kept on a short leash. He cringes when he thinks of the day that leash is broken.

He hopes he’ll be there to see it.

 

_Day 13 of asset in operation._

The asset is worse than he’s ever seen him.

He looks a mess, and he’s panicked and rattled, and so, so scared. He doesn’t want the chair. The HYDRA agents grasp at the last bits of programming still in place to get the asset to cooperate. They nearly have to resort to calling in Pierce.

Rumlow almost wishes he would fight back. He almost wishes Winter would smack the lab tech away, break the restraints with his metal arm, and leave the room behind full of bloodshed and mayhem.

But he doesn’t.

He accepts the mouth guard, and looks at Rumlow with frightened eyes. His bare chest rises and falls with quick breaths, and there are tear tracks running down his face.

It nearly breaks his heart.

The screams are pure, raw agony, and his body shakes in pain and torment.

He wants it to end. He can’t stand the screams anymore. But when it does stop, it leaves behind a broken man with empty eyes.

The lab techs remove the machines, they remove the mouth guard, and sit him up. They treat him like he’s one of the many machines he’s surrounded by, and Rumlow fucking hates it. He hates the lack of recognition in Winter’s eyes.

They’re cold. Empty.

The asset.

 


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four: in which the asset runs off after a mission.

**Four: 2005**

 

He’s thirty years old, and he leads a double life.

He tells himself he’s okay with it.

It’s pretty good actually. The employee benefits that SHIELD offers are unrivaled. Health insurance, retirement benefits, paid vacation, social security... Things he's never had before. Not too bad for a fake gig.

“Hey man, Pierce wants to see you in his office.”

Rumlow nods at the passing man. “Thanks, Simmons.”

He frowns as he makes his way to the elevator. What the hell could Pierce want with him now? Leaders of SHIELD don’t usually have much to discuss with lowly STRIKE team operatives.

He doesn’t have long to wonder about it.

Pierce looks up from his desk when he hears Rumlow step into his doorway.

“You asked for me, sir?”

Pierce nods with a friendly smile. “Come in, agent Rumlow. Please, close the door behind you.” He patiently waits until the other man has taken a seat in front of his desk. “Just over a year at SHIELD, you’ve done well. I’m hearing good things from your commanding officer.”

Rumlow nods, and while he’s feeling more uneasy by the minute, he makes sure to not show it.

“Thank you, sir. Though, I have a feeling the head of SHIELD didn’t call me in to his office to talk about my status report.”

Pierce nods and smiles wryly. “Nine days ago, while you were on a special ops mission with the STRIKE team out in the pacific, the asset was taken out for a mission.”

Rumlow blinks. The asset was out? _Nine days ago?_ While he was stuck out in the pacific? That means it’s nearly time for the asset to be put back into cryo freeze. Two fucking years go by and he misses his chance to see Winter because he was on a mission with SHIELD? He’s pissed. But he knows better than to voice it, so he just grits his teeth and says nothing.

If Pierce senses his disappointment and anger, he makes no mention of it. The man continues, “The mission was to take out one of the Supreme Court Justices. I assume you’ve heard about it?”

Rumlow nods. Of course he’s heard about it. The assassination of one of the Justices of the Supreme Court of the United States made headlines all over the country. He had a strong suspicion that HYDRA was involved, but he had no idea it was the work of the Winter Soldier. His work at SHIELD has kept him busy. No rest for a sleeper agent.

“The mission went as planned. The target was terminated,” Pierce pauses, and Rumlow swears it’s the most displeased he’s ever seen him. The expression on his face could make a flower wilt. “And then, the strangest thing happened.”

Rumlow raises an eyebrow, waiting.

“The asset disappeared.”

His jaw drops. He blinks, thinking he must have misheard. “What?”

“The asset failed to show up at his specified rendezvous point. Three hours later, a team was sent out, the kill was confirmed, and they looked for him. There was no sign of the asset. He just disappeared. This was five days ago.”

“Why wasn’t I informed when he was taken out?” He sputters. He’s furious! The idea that Winter could be taken out of cryo freeze and put onto a mission without his knowledge, and then subsequently _lost,_ it’s outrageous. This would never have happened under his watch.

“You were unavailable, agent.”

He takes a deep, shaky breath. He tries—fails—to remind himself that he’s not supposed to care about the asset. He’s not supposed to _care_ at all. “You’re telling me, that he’s been on his own, _missing,_ for five days? Where the hell is he? How the hell do you lose him?”

“What your tone with me, boy.” Pierce says in a cold, steely voice. “I won’t take any lip from you. It was a glitch in his programming, nothing more. Rest assured, it will be fixed when he is returned.”

“Are there people looking for him?” He asks, his voice softer now. “He could have gone anywhere in five days.”

“We've got trackers on him.” Pierce says. There’s a faint smile on his lips. “He's in New York.”

“New York?” Rumlow asks. “The guy can barely shit by himself, and he’s made it three states away on his own, in five days?”

Pierce smirks. “He's there. Agent Rumlow, you’ve been on three missions with the asset. You’ve shown that you can handle the asset. That’s why I’ve called you in. You’re going to find him, and you’re going to bring him back, using any means necessary.”

Rumlow takes a slow breath. He knows what that means.

“I’ve already arranged for you and a few of the others to leave on a ‘special mission’. Don’t let me down, Rumlow.”

He nods. “You can count me, sir.” He stands, and turns to leave.

“Rumlow? I’d look around Brooklyn, if I were you.”

“Thank you, sir.” He mutters, before leaving.

***

They head to New York. Pierce mentioned Brooklyn. He was right. The asset's location seems to shifts around the populated borough. 

Rumlow nervously chews on his bottom lip as he thinks about the asset. Nine—no, ten days out of the freezer. Nearly a week on his own. He must be a fucking mess. He can’t even dress himself. Does he know that he has to eat—drink water—every single day? The human body can only go three days without water. They might end up finding a dead body.

Or the programming has somehow completely been broken down, and he’s no longer the asset. What are they going to find? The person he was before HYDRA got their hands on him? Is he going to be violent? Probably. The chances of him coming back quietly, obediently, seem next to none.

Could he possibly remember him?

Rumlow rubs his face with his hands and tries to relax. He tries to clear his head. He looks around the rest of the van. No one else looks stressed like him. Then again, no one knows the asset like he does.

Simmons is the STRIKE team leader. He’s sitting up in the passenger seat. Technically he’s the commanding officer, but he’s never been on a mission with the asset before.

He’s got no problems taking orders, but when it comes to Winter… no one tells him how to handle the asset.

***

It takes them another day and a half to find a good opportunity to extract the asset from his location.

They’ve narrowed the asset’s location to a series of factory warehouses. The area used to be residential, until it was all torn down, fifty years ago, and made into what it is today.

“We split up into two teams,” Simmons says. “The first goes in, sweep every floor, second team surrounds the building. If he’s inside, make sure he doesn’t get away.”

Rumlow grits his teeth when he’s told to watch the perimeter with the others. He should be going in there. Most of them have never seen the asset in action. They don't know what to expect. 

“Let’s go.”

As Simmons leads the first team into the empty building, Rumlow and the others surround the perimeter. The area is completely deserted. There’s not a single sign of life. If the asset is here, he chose a good place to hide out.

A few minutes go by before they hear from the men who went inside.

_“Asset spotted. Top floor, he’s standing by the far window.”_

There’s silence over the radio. Rumlow’s fingers itch around his gun. He wants to do something—anything besides sit on his ass outside while the action is going on inside.

 _“Engaging in contact with the asset… asset is attacking!”_ Over the radio, he hears the distinct sound of screeching metal that he recognizes is from the asset’s arm. Sounds of gunfire ring out from the building. Rumlow’s dark eyes are watching the windows of the top floor. Muzzle flash lights up the dark windows. The men and their guns don’t stand a chance.

_“Fall back! Fall back!”_

Rumlow curses silently to himself, but he saw this coming a mile away.

_“Require backup assistance—”_

The voice is cut off and the radio goes silent.

Rumlow draws a deep breath. He reaches up to press the button on his earpiece. “Simmons, Ferguson, anyone _—_ can you hear me? Respond now. Is anyone still alive?” There’s no answer, not surprising.

Rumlow glances over at Rollins, who’s crouching only a few feet from him. There’s a look of shock on the other man’s face. He jumps at the opportunity to take command. “This is Rumlow, I’m heading inside. Nobody follow me. Everyone else stays at the perimeter until you hear me give the command otherwise.”

Quickly and silently he makes his way inside. The building is dark, but moonlight filters in through the floor to ceiling windows. He finds a wide staircase, and starts going up. Two floors from the top, there’s a body sprawled across the stairs, the neck clearly broken. Running from the Winter Soldier is a fool’s errand. Poor idiot.

He’s at the top floor. His footsteps are nearly silent, but he knows sneaking up on the soldier is an exercise in futility. Seeing as how there’s no such thing as the element of surprise… “Winter?”

There’s movement by the window. The metal arm flashes in the moonlight. As his eyes scan the room, he sees bodies littering the ground. It looks like a fucking massacre.

The figure slowly turns away from the window. Rumlow sees nothing but anger on his face. His palm sweats around his gun. There’s no weapon in the soldier’s hands, but he’s not dumb enough to think the soldier needs one to kill him.

“Winter?”

The soldier saunters towards him. He sees a flash of metal from the arm. He hears the screeching of the gears and the metal plates. It’s raised towards him. The soldier is attacking—

“ручное управление!” 

The soldier freezes, not two feet away from him.

Rumlow draws a shaky breath. He wasn’t sure if the manual override triggers would work. He wasn’t sure if there was enough programming left in place. His heart pounds quickly in his chest. He will _never_ forget how dangerous the asset truly is.

But something has clearly gone wrong with the soldier’s programming, because the anger on his face is unimaginable. His eyes are wide and furious, lips parted and teeth bared in a feral growl. This is not the blank, obedient, submissive face of HYDRA’s asset.

The arm is still raised in an attack.

“на коленях.”

The soldier drops to his knees with a heavy thud. Both arms drop to his side.

Rumlow slowly lowers his gun. He steps closer, hoping the man doesn’t freak out, or god forbid, try to attack him again. But he doesn’t do either of these things. He just kneels, on his knees, still and dejected. His messy hair falls into his face. The moonlight from the window illuminates it between the messy strands.  

“Do you remember me?”

The soldier’s eyes brush over his face. He’s full of confusion and anger. There’s no recognition.

Rumlow tries not to feel disappointed. “Why did you run away?”

The soldier’s brow furrows at the question. A grimace forms on his face as he tries to think. He tries so hard to remember.

“You don’t even know, do you?” Rumlow asks softly. He steps closer, and slowly drops to his knees. He holsters his gun. And now, they’re just inches apart, and he can see him, _really_ see him. He looks dirty, like he hasn’t cleaned himself in a week, or eaten for that matter, his clothes hang a bit looser on him. But he still sees the Winter that left him two years ago, scared and lost. He remembers the look on his face when they pushed him into that chair. He remembers the fear and the desperation. He hates seeing it every damn time.

Rumlow reaches up to grasp the other man’s face. He’s got more than a week’s worth of growth. “Stupid…” he murmurs. “So, so stupid…” He leans forward, capturing his lips in a kiss. “So fucking stupid…” He’s not scared anymore. Maybe he should be. Or maybe he has a bit of a death wish.

The soldier doesn’t kiss him back. But he does relax under his touch. His shoulders sag, and the anger melts away as Rumlow kisses him again, and again. Two years is too fucking long.

“Why did you run away?” He asks between kisses. “Why? Do you know what they’re going to do to you?” He grabs the other man by the shoulder and shakes him. “Do you even know… I was so fucking worried.” He whispers.

Winter doesn’t speak. And Rumlow starts to wonder how in the world does he manage to have such intense feelings for such a broken man. He looks like he wants to say something, but he can’t. He only manages to shake his head, and Rumlow imitates him.

“What are you doing here?”

Winter shakes his head again. He chews on his bottom lip in a way that’s so cute and childish, and it’s definitely not the Winter Soldier. “I don’t know…” He finally whispers.

The other man’s broken voice is bringing tears to his eyes, and he has to close them because he cannot fucking handle it right now. He wraps his arms tightly around the other man, pulling him in close, and he can feel Winter’s face buried between his shoulder and his neck. His beard scratches against his skin.

He can’t believe how much he’s missed him.

They sit like that for a while, kneeling in an awkward embrace. Winter sags against him, heavy and needy. He always becomes so pliant under his touch.

“Are you going to take me back?”

Rumlow takes a shaky breath. “You have to go back,” he says softly, regretfully.

He releases his arms and pulls back just enough to see the other man’s face. There’s a sad, dejected acceptance in the soldier’s eyes. His head falls slightly, and his eyes look to the side. The blank expression returns, and it’s like he’s seeing something that’s not there, or maybe, he’s remembering something from the past.

“I was looking for…” He trails off and his face scrunches in pain again. “I thought he’d be here.”

An anger he wasn’t expecting builds in him. He clenches his jaw as he watches the other man. He’s talking about _him_ again. He doesn’t even know who _he_ is. A flare of jealousy rises in his chest, and his hands tighten around the other man’s arms.

“Who’s he?”

Winter’s eyes flicker to the right, and his head slowly turns. Eventually, he shakes his head, but he says, “I know this place.” His voice is barely a whisper.

“You’ve been here before? You remember?”

“I think… I think this was home.”

Rumlow blinks. Home. Yet another painful reminder that the Winter Soldier used to be a person. He used to have a home. He used to have more than just a cold, cryo chamber.

“It’s not right,” Winter says softly. He’s shaking his head, looking around the empty warehouse sadly. “It’s wrong. It’s all wrong. He’s not here.”

“That was a long time ago, Winter. I’m sorry.” He carefully reaches up and brushes the hair out of the other man’s face. He gently kisses him again, wishing to calm him. He doesn’t want to cause him any more pain. “I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t want to go back,” he pleads.

Rumlow shakes his head. “You have to go back.”

“They’re going to take it all away. They always do.”

“I’m sorry.” And god, he is. But letting the asset go was never an option. “I wish it were different.” He pushes the other man’s hair back again, and he gently strokes his face with his hands. Even if he could let the man go, even if he ordered the soldier to knock him out, to kill the others sitting outside, HYDRA would never let their valued asset go. If they couldn’t find him, and they can because there are no less than three trackers on his body, they wouldn’t want him falling into any other hands. The soldier’s dead from remote cyanide trigger, lethal this time. They made sure of it.

And maybe a part it _is_ purely selfish. Because he knows now, after a decade, that working with HYDRA is a life long commitment. There’s no backing out once you’re in. There’s no getting out. (The idea of him and Winter, running off into the sunset and living happily ever after—it’s a fantasy that he won’t allow to linger in his thoughts.) And if he can never leave HYDRA, HYDRA becomes his only way of seeing the soldier. Even if it is few and years between. He could never let him go.

Winter is so beautiful. And not just on the outside. He’s a gorgeous man, even with the week old scruff and dirty hair, looking dehydrated and malnourished. But it’s the person he keeps catching glimpses of, the beautiful, lost soul, hidden and suppressed by decades of torturous programming, he just wants to wrap his arms around him and never let go.

And it hurts, knowing that he’s going to be delivering Winter back into the arms of HYDRA. Where they’ll wipe him, and hurt him, and take everything away from him again. It hurts because no one could ever convince him that Winter’s unaware of what’s happening to him, that he’s just a thing. He’s a fucking person.

And he’s fallen hard for him, such a fucking idiot.

He presses their lips together again. He tries to be soft and sweet, but there’s so much desire bubbling beneath the surface, threatening to overwhelm him. His tongue pries into Winter’s mouth, between soft lips. He pants and probes, and sucks that plush bottom lip between his teeth. They part for breath, and their eyes meet.

It’s torture to think that Winter doesn’t remember him. He doesn’t even recognize him. Yet every time they touch, he never fights back, he never resists. Is it the programming forcing him not to defy or struggle?

Then slowly, Winter leans forward, and presses their lips together in the gentlest kiss, barely a touch of lips. The simplest action fills him with want and desire and need, and the one thing he’s always been afraid of—love.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe there is the smallest bit of subconscious buried in the soldier’s mind that does remember him.

He prays that HYDRA never takes that bit away from him.

“Come on, we have to go.” He whispers. He swears his voice didn’t just crack. He stands and he pulls the other man to his feet. The soldier sways briefly before Rumlow steadies him. Food and water—he makes a mental reminder—as soon as they get to the van.

“I need to put these cuffs on you,” he mumbles, as he pulls out a simple pair of metal handcuffs. It’s laughable because the soldier could easily break out of them. But the way the soldier wordlessly allows Rumlow to turn him around and pull his arms back, tells him that he won’t. He does make sure the metal cuff isn’t too tight on his human arm. Not that he would complain if it were.

They head toward the staircase. Rumlow has to pull the asset along. He grimaces, as they have to walk around the bodies spread over the length of the room. Poor bastards.

The rest of the men had regrouped by the time they make it outside, and they look up in shock when they see Rumlow, asset in hand, chained and pliant.

“Holy shit,” Rollins murmurs. “We thought you were dead for sure.”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” He nods towards the building. “There are five bodies up there. Extract them, and we’re heading out.”

The others nod silently and do as they’re told. He’s glad he doesn’t have to do the dirty work. He likes giving orders. While the others are picking up the bodies of their fallen comrades, he sits in the back of the van with the soldier. They’re both silent. Rumlow watches the soldier, and the soldier watches the ground between them, lost in whatever thoughts are left in his head.

They don’t speak until the others return.

The men pile the bodies in the back of the second van, and head back to base.

“So this is the asset?”

Rumlow looks up at Lavery’s voice. He nods simply.

Lavery looks him up and down, his eyes scrutinize every inch of the asset’s body. He scoffs, “I thought HYDRA’s greatest assassin would be more badass. He kind of has a homeless look going on, doesn’t he?”

Winter doesn’t react, like he doesn’t even hear him.

Rumlow just grits his teeth. _Stop fucking looking at him._

It’s a three hour drive back to base. Rumlow goes between watching the asset to fuming at Lavery, who’s watching the asset. Sure, maybe ten years ago when he first met Winter, he too was a wide eyed brat who didn’t know any better. But now, _he’s_ the one with the most field experience with the asset. He’s the one Pierce calls in when something’s gone wrong with the asset. He’s the one Winter trusts, and the only one who can calm him when he’s in a fit. Maybe this is his arrogance talking, but _no one_ should be looking at Winter but him.

 

All eyes are on them when they bring the asset to medical.

The scientists immediately stand at attention when they step into the room. Everyone watches the asset.

“Call Pierce,” the head scientist says to one of the techs.

“Put him in the chair.”

Rumlow silently apologizes to the soldier. He pulls him forward by the arm, removes the handcuffs, and pushes him into the chair. Behind him he hears Rollins, Lavery, and Harper adjust their weapons. Just in case the asset acts out.

They have to wait nearly a half hour for Pierce’s arrival.

In the meantime, the scientists work frantically to check the asset’s condition.

“Get him out of his suit—”

“Severe tissue dehydration, get him on a glucose saline drip—”

“Prepare the drug administration—”

The asset violently flinches when one of the scientists tries to administer an IV into his human arm. The man jumps back in fear. Both metal and flesh hands are clenched into tight fists. His eyes are wide and his expression feral.

“Calm down, soldier—”

“Kill the arm, kill it now—”

Beside him, Rumlow sees the others with their guns lifted, pointed at the asset.

The soldier’s metal arm is remotely disabled. It falls to the armrest, heavy and still. Metal restraints close around his human arm. He lets out a whimper when the men in white lab coats come closer again. There’s a struggle behind his eyes. But it’s not them he’s fighting against. It’s like there’s a war going on in his head.

_Don’t let them touch you—must obey—it’s going to hurt—can’t resist—can’t fight back—so much pain—don’t touch me—don’t touch me—don’t—_

The benzodiazepine drug cocktail floods into his veins. It’s a special regulation mixture for HYDRA’s asset. Drugs to reduce anxiety, muscle relaxants, sedatives, anticonvulsants, and more.

The asset stills. The rise and fall of his bare chest slows, it’s less panicked. But his eyes are no less frightened.

“I see the asset has been recovered.”

Rumlow jumps in surprise. He hadn’t even heard Pierce enter the room. “Yes, sir,” he stammers. 

“Casualties?”

“Five… including Simmons.”

Pierce nods. “I see. That’s unfortunate. How is our asset doing?” He asks the scientists.

“He’s stabilizing. He was… a bit erratic when he was first brought in. The drugs are calming him.”

“Hmm. Do we know what caused the malfunction?”

“Um… it appears to be just a minor glitch in the programming. A wipe and a reprogram should fix the issue.”

Pierce slowly steps forward until he’s standing directly in front of the asset. He kneels down until their eyes are level. The asset watches him with wide eyes. His movements seem sluggish but his gaze is still alert.

“So many decades of use,” Pierce murmurs. “I suppose a few malfunctions are to be expected. Did you enjoy Brooklyn? It wasn’t what you remembered, was it?”

Rumlow can’t see Pierce’s face, but he imagines there’s a cruel smirk on it.

“You didn’t find him, did you?” He reaches a hand out to grasp the asset’s face harshly. “Do you even remember him? I thought we wiped that out of you years ago.”

Rumlow watches as Pierce releases his face. His hand moves to brush back his messy hair, and stroke his face in a cruel imitation of care. He leans closer, and says so softly that Rumlow has to strain his ears to hear his words: “Your friend’s been dead for sixty years.”

Rumlow watches the agonizing devastation that comes across the soldier’s face. His jaw is open in a silent cry, his lips quiver, and his eyes are filled with so much pain. His breaths are short, and his shoulders start to shake as quiet sobs start racking his body. The sight of tears is too much for Rumlow to take.

Pierce stands and turns away from the asset—the fucker has a smirk on his face—he speaks to the head scientist, “Wipe him, maximum intensity settings.”

“Maximum? Sir?”

“I want to make sure the programming holds this time. No more glitches. This little failure cost us five men.”

The men nod and get to work, changing the settings on their machines.

Rumlow can only watch the asset. He sobs silently, tears streaming down his face, oblivious to all that’s happening around him. There’s so much pain on his face. A different pain than what the machines will give him. This is… much more tragic. Something clenches in his chest, and he hates himself just a bit for bringing Winter back here.

“I see why you like him,” a soft voice murmurs in his ear.

Rumlow turns back to see Lavery smirking at him. His leering eyes are fixed on the asset, and if Pierce weren’t in the room, Rumlow would have socked him in the jaw.

A lab tech holds out a mouth guard for the asset. His eyes are unseeing, and for the first time, the tech has to force his jaw open to place the mouth guard inside. It only seems to make the soldier cry harder. The tears stream down his face as he’s pressed back against the headrest. The machines are whirring to life around him.

Rumlow recognizes the now familiar panic. The electricity crackles and sparks, and settles into place around the asset’s head. His screams fill the room, and his face scrunches in pain.

Rumlow’s fingers itch to do something to make it stop, and he has to clench them into fists held down by crossed arms just to make sure he doesn’t do something stupid.

_Why did you have to run away? Why didn’t you just do as you were told? Why wasn’t I there, to help you, to protect you?_

Then the screams stop. The lack of it is like a fresh breath of air. It takes him a moment to realize that the machines are still humming and droning with life. That’s not right. The asset’s face is blank. His body still shakes and convulses, but his face is painfully blank.

The machines will stop, Rumlow thinks to himself, any second now they’ll stop. But they don’t. And when he looks at the soldier’s hands, the right imitates the left, relaxed and dead, no longer clenched in a tight fist.

This is wrong.

He watches as blood trickles down from his nostrils. The soldiers breath comes out in short, desperate gasps, much too few and far between.

“Stop it! It’s too much for him!”

Every head in the room whips around to face him, all wide eyes and open jaws. Simultaneously, one of the machines starts beeping.

“Fuck!”

“He’s going into cardiac arrest—”

“Turn it off—”

The horrendous whirring finally stops. The machines are pulled away. The asset is still, much too fucking still. The blood has dribbled down his face and neck. With the machines pulled back, there’s red coming from his ears as well.

Rumlow just stares in shock. No one moves for a moment. And then—the bare chest jerks as he pulls in a shaky breath. The beeping stops, and everyone starts moving again. The scientists check their monitors, making sure they didn’t do any permanent damage to the asset.

Rumlow himself draws a sharp breath. He was fucking terrified.

“Congratulations, agent.”

He slowly turns his head. He blinks at Pierce, who—of course—doesn’t look the least bit concerned about what they just witnessed.

“On what?”

“Your promotion. Good job, agent Rumlow.” Pierce gives him a smirk before turning and leaving the room.

His mind still feels too shaky to process the man’s words.

He turns back to the asset. The men are still working around him. He lies on the chair, unresponsive and dead to the world.

This is the worst he’s ever seen him.

“He’ll be fine, let’s just get him cleaned up and put away—”

A man grabs him on either side, pulling him up and out of the seat. They didn’t count on him swaying on his feet before his legs completely gave out under him.

Rumlow jumps forward and just barely catches him in his arms before he hits the ground. Winter sags like dead weight in his arms.

“Fuck,” he hears one of the techs mutter above him.

He glares up at them.

He feels Winter trembling in his arms, then he violently jerks as dry heaves rack his body. A broken moan escapes his throat as his body tries to recover from the torture it just endured.

“Is he going to puke—”

“Let’s get him in the shower—”

“I’ll fucking do it!” Rumlow snarls at them before they can touch him.

They quickly back away, and he doesn’t miss the look they give each other.

“Just get me some fucking soap—and shampoo too!”

Rumlow gets the heavier man into the other room. The door shuts and locks with a loud click behind them. He gets the other man to sit on the wooden bench that runs across the length of the room.

“Winter?”

The other man is unresponsive. His human arm shakes with light tremors, and he draws short, uneven breaths. The blood is caked on his face and neck. His blue eyes are empty. If it weren’t for the jerky movement of his chest, he’d think the man was dead. 

He swallows the lump in his throat and starts undressing him. His own hands shake as he tries to undo the fastening on his pants. He doesn’t account for the extra weight on the soldier’s left side, and the man falls over with a clang.

“Fuck!” Rumlow curses under his breath. He runs his hands roughly through his hair, squeezes his eyes shut, and tries to compose himself. He’d give anything to not have seen what he saw tonight. But when he opens his eyes, he still sees the asset, still and lifeless. It’s like a knife twisting in his gut.

He takes a deep, shaky breath, and finishes removing the man’s pants and boots. He removes his own clothes and drags them both over to the showerhead.

Once he’s upright, Winter starts jerking almost immediately.

“Hey! Hey, what’s wrong? Winter?”

He’s retching. Rumlow turns him away just in time for the other man to empty his stomach. He winces as the dry heaves continue until there’s nothing left to expel. Until he stills, except for the occasional tremor.

He pulls the other man back until they’re touching, back to front. His arms tightly wrap around the other man, and he buries his face in Winter’s neck. His hair is a long, wet mess, and it gets in his face, but he doesn’t mind.

The water rains over them, and it washes away the puddle of bile on the shower floor.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs into Winter’s ear. “I wish I never brought you back here.”

They stand like that for a while, the water cascades upon them, washing away dirt, sweat, and blood.

And Rumlow thinks there might be another double life that he leads. He’s the primary field handler of HYDRA’s asset. He’s supposed to apathetic and callous and hard-hearted.

Unfortunately, it seems he might have fallen in love with the asset, just a little bit.  

 


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five: in which Rumlow finds the truth difficult to accept.

**Five: 2010**

 

He’s thirty five years old, and the long, lonely years have hardened him.

“Five fucking years,” he murmurs softly. “Five fucking years, Winter.”

The Winter Soldier was staring blankly straight ahead. Now, his eyes twitch and flicker upward to the other man’s face, like a machine waking from sleep mode. His eyes are cold and dull, and his face is blank, devoid of all emotion. There’s no sign of the man he’d waited five years to see.

“ожидает протокол миссии”

_Awaiting mission protocol._

A moment passes, and Rumlow is torn between wanting to grab the other man and violently shake him, and just breaking down in tears. So many years of nothing but Winter on his mind has worn him thin. He’s had both men and women in his bed, but he never sees anything but Winter. Five years have passed, and he still hasn’t been able to break the hold the man has on his heart. He hasn’t been able to stop _feeling_.

As his life slowly passes by, working himself to the bone, mission after mission for HYDRA and SHIELD, knowing the entire time that Winter is frozen, suspended in time, not even living, like he’s just an object placed on a shelf gathering dust. The years have been painful.

They both know pain.

Rumlow shakes his head and tries to clear his thoughts.

“Iran. Single target. Mostafa Ahmadi, nuclear engineer. He’s being escorted to the Ukraine by one of SHIELD’s best. You’re going to take him out.” He pauses and inhales a breath, waiting for a reaction or some sort of response. He doesn’t get one. “We leave in an hour.”

The team is ready to go by the time they meet them. There are only a few of them. No need for any more men than necessary. After all, the mission is for the asset, not the field handlers.

Rumlow briefs the asset on his mission during the thirteen hour flight. “Ahmadi’s being escorted by SHIELD special agent Natasha Romanoff.” He hands him two pictures. The first of a middle aged man with dark hair. The second is of a young redheaded woman. Couldn’t be older than mid twenties.

“Don’t be fooled by her. I’ve seen her skills. She’s ex-KGB. She’s there to protect the target, and she knows what she’s doing.” He pauses as his eyes roam over the asset’s face. “Be careful,” he says more softly.

The asset’s eyes flash darkly. If there’s any flicker of emotion from Rumlow’s words or the faces he sees in his hands, he doesn’t show it.

It takes them two days to track down the target. Romanoff’s got them out of Iran. They find them holed up somewhere just outside of Odessa.

“They’re moving out tonight. It’s now or never,” Harper says.

Rumlow nods. “I’ll prepare the asset. He’s going out as soon as he’s ready.”

“You need any help?” Lavery calls out behind his back.

Rumlow pauses. He knows better than to think Lavery’s asking out of the goodness of his heart. “No. I got it.” He says firmly.

The asset pays him no mind as he gears him up.

“You ready for the mission?” Rumlow asks, as he tightens the straps holding the submachine pistol to his back. He’s missed being this close to the other man.

The asset doesn’t answer him.

Rumlow sighs mentally and finishes prepping him. He moves slowly, taking his time. He has no desire for the mission to finish any sooner than it has to. Every moment he spends with the other man he wishes he’d get a hint of recollection or remembrance from him. But there’s nothing. It seems HYDRA’s last wipe is holding firmly.

He grabs the dark mask from where it’s sitting off to the side. He turns it in his hands for a moment before turning to Winter. Slowly, he fastens it to the other man’s face. The straps are tight and confining, and they’re buried in strands of messy hair.

Rumlow steps back and looks at his handy work. The asset stares blank and terrifying behind the mask. Armed to the teeth, he looks identical to the soldier he saw for the first time fourteen years ago.

_God, has it really been that long?_

“Let’s go,” he says, before turning his back. He really hopes his voice didn’t shake as much as it sounded like in his head.

The two of them drive out. Rumlow insists the others stay behind.

He drives while the asset sits in the passenger seat, sniper rifle in his hands. The sun has nearly set, and a wave of darkness begins to blanket the scenery.

“This is the road they’ll take.” It’s a mountain road, dark, hidden, and secluded. Perfect location for a sniper shot. “Intel says they’ll probably come through within the next hour or so.”

The asset looks around with sharp eyes. Without saying a word he climbs out of the truck, rifle in hand.

Rumlow watches as the soldier heads for higher ground. He silently disappears into the night, blending in perfectly in the darkness. A flash of metal shines from the moonlight, and then it’s gone.

He doesn’t see the soldier anymore.

There’s nothing but silence, even the air is still.

He moves the vehicle into a more hidden area behind some trees. Now there’s nothing to do but wait.

An hour passes.

Suddenly, the calm night is interrupted by a loud bang that rings out, reverberating in the stillness. Rumlow blinks as he suddenly sits up straight in his seat. There was definitely a silencer on the rifle. He scrambles out of the car just as he hears the loud screech of tires. He can see it now, and he watches as the headlights of the vehicle spin wildly before the car goes over the cliff, disappearing from sight. A loud crash signals the end of its descent. The first noise he heard must have been from one of the tires blowing out.

He’s expecting stillness. Mission complete? No, there’s a haze of movement near the ledge, a flash of red maybe, but he can barely see anything at this distance.

There’s a jerk of movement, and he thinks he hears the splash of water, but he can’t be sure.

It’s over now.

Rumlow’s eyes look for the asset, but he’s nowhere to be found. He squints in the darkness and tries to look for a glimpse of metal. There’s no movement from the trees. There’s nothing.

A moment passes. He knows the soldier won’t run off again. Not after what happened last time. But he can’t help but worry.

He doesn’t even hear the footsteps until the man is right behind him. He nearly jumps with his heart when he sees the dark figure. Even after all that he’s seen, the Winter Soldier never fails to impress him.

“Целевая устранены”

The asset holds out his rifle.

Rumlow shakes his head as his pulse slowly returns to normal. He takes the weapon from him. “English. Please.”

“Target eliminated,” says the low voice, hoarse from disuse and muffled by the mask.

Rumlow nods. “Good job, soldier. Mission complete.” He steps forward and reaches for the mask. He has to bury his fingers in the asset’s hair to find the straps. He finally removes it and throws the damn thing into the back seat. He fucking hates it.

“Let’s go.”

Rumlow draws a shuddered breath as they drive off into the night. He sneaks a glance at the man next to him. The asset is still. Missionless. He sits like an object without a purpose. Blank.

“You fancy some sightseeing?”

The asset slowly turns his head towards him. His brow furrows slightly, and the look on his face is confused, like he’s not quite sure what to make of the words.

“I figure since you don’t get to get out much. I’m sure the beaches around here are just as beautiful at night.”

He’s not wrong. The night sky is stunningly clear and the full moon shines bright. Odessa is surrounded by miles of water. It doesn’t take them long to follow tourist signs for the nearest boardwalk.

It’s not terribly populated. Most of the people are young and they hang out on the boardwalk.

“Come on.”

The asset follows him out of the car. When Rumlow turns to him, the look on his face says he doesn’t know what to do around so many people. Of course, because he’s programmed to avoid people, to avoid being seen, like a ghost. He looks like he itches for the mask.

“This way.”

Rumlow leads him away from the people, most of whom don’t spare a second glance at two men who head into the darkness behind the dunes.

As they get closer to the water, the light from the moon and the nearby city illuminates the ocean, which shines a beautiful dark blue-green. The air is crisp, and the smell of salt water engulfs them. The sand crunches under their boots as the waves crash onto the wet sand.

“Take your boots off.”

The asset turns away from the view to watch him as he unlaces his own boots, and pulls them off. They drop onto the sand with a soft thump. His socks follow. And then he rolls up his pant legs as far as they’ll go.

“Go on,” he urges.

Slowly, the asset imitates his actions.

The wet sand feels cold underneath his feet. They stand together for a moment before the asset moves. He steps closer to the water, and Rumlow watches his movements, silently admiring his form as he steps towards the waves.

The water’s up to his ankles now.

Rumlow takes a few steps forward. He tilts his head to watch the other man’s face. He looks calm, peaceful, _almost_ blissful. The soldier watches the waves as the tide repeatedly washes over their ankles. His eyes shift up to gaze at the moonlit sky, and the way the light shines on his face almost makes him look ethereal.

The water’s cold this time of night. If he wasn’t wearing layers of tactical gear he might’ve been cold.

The asset seems to like it though. He looks relaxed in a way he hasn’t been since he was taken out of cryo. Rumlow thinks he might even see the barest hint of a smile on his lips.

“It’s beautiful, huh?” He says, and he takes a half step closer.

Slowly, the asset nods, and Rumlow is inclined to agree, but he’s not talking about the beach.

“I didn’t think it would be half a decade before I’d see you again.”

Winter turns toward him. He still looks at him blankly, but there’s something different now, something else in his eyes.

“It’s been so long. I’ve missed you, so fucking much.” He bites his lip and lets out a mirthless laugh. “I feel like I’ve barely been able to keep sane these last few years. Never knowing if… never knowing when I’d see you again.”

Winter watches him silently. He doesn’t speak, and fuck if that silence doesn’t feel like a knife in his gut.

He hesitantly reaches out for the other man’s hand, and takes it in his own.

The soldier’s gaze drops to look at their hands intertwined. Rumlow gives it a squeeze, just to let him know he’s there, that he’s real. He watches him, searching his face. His head is still bowed, although now he seems to be looking at his feet. He’s tapping them in the water, creating small waves. Almost like a child at the beach for the first time.

Rumlow swallows hard as he tries to find his voice. “Look at me. Hey, look at my face.” He pulls on the hand in his own to get his attention, he grips him by the upper arm in his other, and shakes him. “I need you to try and remember me, okay? I—I need you to remember. My name is Brock Rumlow. And we’ve met before. We’ve met… many times.” He takes a shaky breath. “Do you remember me?”

The asset’s eyes search his face. They look insanely blue in the bright light of the moon above them. So damn beautiful.

Slowly, he shakes his head, and Rumlow feels his heart drop into the pit of his stomach.

“You really don’t remember,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. He should have expected this of course. The asset never remembers.

He moves forward to embrace him. He wraps both arms around the other man, and drops his head onto his shoulder. He feels exhausted, worn out, and stretched thin. His tired fingers grip the hard leather of the asset’s uniform.

The asset’s arm are awkwardly still at his sides, and he makes no move to return the embrace.

“I wish you’d remember… I wish…” He trails off and just tightens his grip. Never mind the fact that he’s alone with and being overly touchy with the world’s deadliest assassin. The fact is, he doesn’t know what the fuck he wants.

He does know that the man in his arms is real. More real than the memory he’s held on to for the past five years. He knows that Winter smells like soap and salt water, that his hair is tangled and messy from the wind, and he loves the feeling when he buries his face in it. He knows that Winter’s skin is soft like a baby’s—he’s barely aged a day since he met him—and his neck must be sensitive because he shivers when Rumlow rubs his stubble against him. He gently presses kisses along the column of his neck, then slowly up his jaw, and finally to his lips.

He knows that kissing him has always gotten a reaction from him in the past.

His eyes have fluttered closed. Winter tastes the same as he remembers, so sweet with lips so soft.

He’s forgotten that, though they may be semi-secluded, away from the boardwalk, they’re still in a very public place. Or maybe he just doesn’t care anymore. Fuck all the eyes that could be watching. He doesn’t even care if HYDRA’s watching. It’s just him and Winter, the sand under their toes and the water crashing at their feet, and he’s kissing him like he’s just found his long lost lover.

The insane, sleep-deprived part of his mind likens their story to a fairytale. The prince finds a beautiful princess being held captive. They fight the evil men keeping her caged, kill the bad guys, and live happily ever after.  

But life isn’t like the fairytales. There are no happy endings, at least not for them. He knows this now. Because Winter still doesn’t kiss him back.

When they finally break apart, Winter’s lips are swollen and beautiful. He’s silent, docile, and obediently waiting for Rumlow’s next move.

Rumlow drops his arms.

He wants so much. But he settles for some time alone with Winter.

They spend the next few hours sitting in the sand, watching the waves, and silently existing in each other’s presence.  

When Rumlow realizes they have to get back. It hits him that the mission is over. His short time with the soldier is already coming to an end. He wants—he needs an excuse to have more time with Winter. It can’t be over now, it’s just too soon.

But there’s nothing to be done about it. And he pulls them both to their feet, shows him how to put his boots back on, and simply files their kiss away in his mind, something to remember long after Winter leaves him.

The memory is never enough.

Slowly, Winter turns toward him. His blue eyes are slightly clearer now. His lips part, and they must be dry because a pink tongue comes out to lick them.

“Thank you,” he says hoarsely.

Rumlow nods. His heart flutters in his chest, and they both make their way back to their vehicle.

*

All his thoughts of virtue and self-control have disappeared by the time the asset is returned to his room.

“Come’re.” He pulls the asset closer by the arm. He kisses him like it’s his dying breath, and the last thing he wants to taste before he leaves this world is Winter.

He kisses him like a lover.

“I’ve missed you so fucking much,” he whispers against his lips. He’s panting, trying to catch his breath, trying to form thoughts into words when his mind is muddled with desire. “I want you so bad. I want you…”

Their lips meet again, and Rumlow’s fingers expertly undo the straps holding together the soldier’s uniform. The leather suit is thrown aside, and he’s finally able to explore the body he’s dreamed about. Skin that never ages, muscles that never wither away. Perfection is the only word he can think of to describe it.

His hands travel down to the front of the soldier’s pants. He can’t get their clothes off fast enough. He doesn’t think about the other man’s pliant demeanor. He doesn’t think about how his arms are motionless at his sides. All he knows is how much he wants him—needs him. Winter feels better than he remembers. He breathes him in, inhales his scent, tastes his skin, and stares into beautiful blue eyes.

“I love you.”

*

When he wakes up the next morning, his first thought is that sleeping on a roll out mattress pad is incredibly uncomfortable. His back aches and his joints crack when he stretches. He looks around the room. Sunlight filters in from the small window near the ceiling.

Rollins and Harper are still asleep under their thin sheets.

He looks around for the third man. There’s no sign of Lavery.

He silently pads over to the bathroom. It’s empty. Both trucks are still parked outside. Which means there’s only one other obvious place he could be.

Rumlow narrows his eyes in anger. Lavery has no fucking reason to interact with the asset. A small twinge of fear strikes him in the gut, causing it to clench painfully. He quickly makes his way towards the basement. Silently, he steps down the stairs, and through the dark corridor. As his thoughts get away from him, he grows more panicked. He consciously picks up his pace.

The door to the room where the asset is kept is cracked open an inch. Light filters out into the hallway, along with a filthy moan that escapes through the crack.

When he realizes his suspicious were correct, his eyes widen, and an unimaginable, furious anger overtakes him. He presses himself against the door, and peaks through the small opening.

Winter is on his knees. His chest is bare and the front of his pants have been undone. Lavery’s hands grip his dark hair as he thrusts into the asset’s mouth. Even from a distance Rumlow can see the strain in his jaw as the other man fucks his mouth. His face is hatefully blank, his eyes dull and lifeless, and his arms lay still at his sides. Not an ounce of will to stop what’s happening.

_“Oh yeah, just like that. You’re so fucking good at this, you filthy little whore. You got lips made for sucking my cock. Maybe I’ll even get a taste of that tight little ass too—”_

That’s all he can take. Rumlow bursts through the door. It bounces off the wall hard enough to slam shut behind him. Lavery jumps away from the soldier in shock. A flash of embarrassment crosses his face as he tries to shove his hard cock back into his pants.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Rumlow growls dangerously.

“I was—I was just having a bit of fun…”

“A bit of fun—you son of a bitch… what the _fuck_ is wrong with you?!”

“Well,” he shrugs, “look at him…” Rumlow does. Winter watches them both, his eyes flicker between them, emotionless, and still very much dead to the world. There’s a dribble of saliva running down his chin. “He doesn’t care.” Lavery gives a small laugh, trying to play it off, and goddamnit Rumlow just wants to hit him. His hands are clenched into fists, and he very well might beat him senseless.

“You don’t touch him,” he says in a low voice. “Do you understand me? You don’t fucking touch him.”

Lavery scoffs. He’s finally composed himself. “Come on boss, don’t be selfish. You’ve got to let the someone else have a turn.”

Rumlow stills. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Come on, I heard you… last night. It was kind of obvious what was happening. I know what you were doing—”

Rumlow rushes forward, grabs the other man by the lapels of his shirt, and pushes him back against the wall—hard enough to hurt. He revels in the sound of Lavery’s head smacking against the wall.

He inhales a quick breath. “You should choose your next words carefully.”

“Oh, come on, Rumlow,” Lavery spits out, struggling under the pressure of the other man’s fists on his throat. “Cut the righteous act. He’s just a _thing_. We use him to do our dirty work for us. What’s so wrong with using him for something else?”

Rumlow’s fist slams into his nose, and a river of blood flows down his face.

“I will _kill you._ ”

Lavery’s trying to stop the flow of blood from his nose. He scoffs at him. “Don’t tell me you actually care.” His eyes flicker towards the asset, who watches them silently. “He’s not even a person anymore. He gets wiped anyway, it’s not like he’ll even remember.”

Rumlow clenches his jaw as the words strike something in him.

“Wow,” Lavery says softly, as he watches him. A mocking smile forms on his face. “You dumb son of a bitch. He’s a _thing._ He doesn’t _feel_ , he doesn’t even know what that is. You think he likes you more because you’re nice to him? He’s empty. He doesn’t _want_. He doesn’t—”

A wave of fury rises in him like he’s never felt before. He feels anger, helplessness, and pain. He wants it to stop. He wants to _smash Lavery’s fucking face in_.

He punches him again. His fist smashes into his face with a loud smack. He grips the man’s jaw, a hard pull to the right, and a sickening crack resounds throughout the small room.

Rumlow stumbles back, and Lavery’s body crumbles to the floor. He stares, shocked at his own actions. He killed a man. Nothing he hasn’t done before. But he killed a man, for touching Winter. For touching what belongs to _him_.

He turns to look at the other man in the room. There’s a painful lack of understanding on Winter’s face. His brow is furrowed in confusion, but there’s also a certain helplessness. He’s still on his knees, pants undone. He makes no move to stand or to tidy himself.

A horrible realization comes over him. Rumlow slowly, painfully realizes that he’s looking at a person who has been completely stripped of all agency. There is no choice that he’s made, that has been for himself. No decision that he’s made on his own. Nothing that he has _chosen_ for himself.

He stumbles forward, and drops to his knees in front of the other man.

“Winter… I never… I—” He takes a shuttered breath. “I’m sorry.”

Winter’s head dips forward. He looks at him with confusion and curiosity, like he doesn’t understand what’s got him so upset.

“I never meant to…” He trails off because he knows his words mean nothing. What he’s done… over so many years, he’s just been deluding himself. He’s taken advantage of someone who’s incapable of protesting. He’s taken a lack of objection to mean reciprocated desire and willingness. He’s fooled himself into thinking Winter could possibly love him back. He’s been kidding himself every single time he thought such a broken thing could be capable of love. 

“Oh god… fuck…” There’s tears coming to his eyes, and he can’t do anything to stop it. It hurts knowing everything that he’s wanted, everything that he’s hoped for, _waited for_ , it’s all been a great façade. As much as he’s wanted Winter, he’s lied to himself thinking the man could ever want him back.

It’s all so wrong.

“Say you love me. Say it.” Rumlow pleads, but it comes out sounding like an order.

Winter twitches his jaw. He looks conflicted, confused. Like he doesn’t even know the meaning of the words he’s supposed to say.

“I don’t care,” Rumlow whispers. “Just say it, please.”

“I love you.” The words are hoarse coming from his lips. But they sound real to his ears.

Rumlow swallows hard. He falls forward, his head drops, and he buries it in Winter’s neck. Tears spill over his eyes and they moisten the soldier’s skin. “I love you so much,” he murmurs. He lets out a dismal laugh. “I’m such a fool.” At least he can finally admit it to himself.

“I don’t know when I’ll see you again. It could be years. I never know… I don’t want another half a decade to go by.” He’s shaking his head. “But I don’t know what to do. There’s nothing I can do.”

Maybe Winter feels his pain. Maybe he understands that he’s upset. Because he slowly, hesitantly raises his arms and settles them gently around his waist.

The time slowly passes. It seems like hours have gone by. In reality, it’s much less. But nonetheless, they settle into each other’s embrace. It’s comfortable if nothing else.

After a while, Rumlow pulls back. He looks at the other man with sad, longing eyes, and he kisses him. Because sometimes, it’s okay to lie to yourself. Sometimes, it’s something that needs to be done.

“If we could run away together…” He finally says against his lips. “Just you and me… where would you want to go?”

Winter blinks slowly at him. The idea of such a choice is foreign to him. “I don’t know.”

“The world’s a big place,” he says with a small smile. “If we could go anywhere…”

Winter furrows his brow. “I like the beach,” he says after a while.

Rumlow nods, and he rests his forehead against the other man’s. “Maybe, one day we’ll go back.” His voice cracks, and he forces his eyes shut as more tears leak out. It hurts being so close to him, holding him in his arms, yet knowing that he can never truly have him.

“I don’t know what to do, Winter.” He murmurs. “What am I supposed to do?”

He gets no response.

Rumlow pulls away so he can properly look at the other man. He slowly shakes his head. “We don’t get a happily ever after,” he scoffs. “It’s just not in the cards for people like us.”

He tightens his grip on the other man’s upper arms. Still, no response.

It’s hopeless, because Winter doesn’t speak unless spoken to. Because he doesn’t do anything unless he’s told to. Because he’s not capable of making decisions, or feeling emotions. HYDRA took all that away from him.

“I hate the way you look at me.” Rumlow says softly. “I fucking hate it. I wish… I wish you could show me that you care. That you—”

He shakes his head again. “No. Because you get wiped, and you forget me, again and again.” He trails off when his voice breaks. “What am I supposed to do?” He asks brokenly. “You… you’re making it look so fucking easy, because you never remember.” And Winter stares at him, wide-eyed and hopeless. Helpless.

“What am I supposed to do?” He asks again. “It’s been so long. It’s always… so long,” he murmurs, as his lips find Winter’s again. And he kisses him like he’ll never get the chance again. Because it could be the truth.

Winter’s lips are soft, and he parts them to let his tongue in. And maybe, just maybe, he welcomes it, and he kisses him back. But who knows. It could just be muscle memory.

“God, you don’t even know.” Rumlow murmurs. He won’t lie to himself anymore. “You are so broken, and you don’t even know it.”

He takes a shaky breath. He tries to compose himself. He’s gone through so many scenarios in his head. Maybe they could run away together. Maybe they could hide and run for the rest of their lives. He imagines sometimes that they could live in a small cottage or a farm, hidden away from the world. They could live off the land, or maybe pay their way with hard physical labor. But the Winter Soldier isn’t exactly inconspicuous, and of course HYDRA has eyes everywhere. HYDRA would never let go of their greatest weapon.

Rumlow shakes his head. It’s a pipe dream. Nothing more. Nothing concrete.

“All these years, Winter. You’ve given me something beautiful to hold on to.” He bites his lip and gazes at the other man. Because he truly is something beautiful.

“If… the next time you wake up… if I’m not here, I want you to know that I love you, and I wish, a thousand times over, that I could take you away from here, and give you the life that you deserve, the life that was taken away from you.”

The soldier blinks at him. And maybe, just maybe, there’s moisture building in his eyes. Maybe he understands.

“I don’t even know your name,” Rumlow whispers. “I don’t even know who you are. But somehow… I’ve fallen in love with you. And I don’t know what to fucking do about it. I just know that I love you. I love you so fucking much.”

He closes his eyes and rests his head on Winter’s shoulder. He relishes the feeling of being held in the other man’s arms, and tries not to think about the fact that in less than a day, Winter will be back in the cryo chamber.

It could be years before he sees him again. It could be never. For him, the time passes both too slow and too quickly. His life is flying by, while Winter's is frozen in time. Even if Winter did remember him, too much time passes and who knows if he'll recognize him?

*

“What happened to Lavery?”

“He’s dead. He disobeyed orders, and now he’s dead.”

Pierce scrutinizes him for a moment, before he shrugs. “Make sure to fill out the paperwork.” He turns his gaze back towards the asset, who’s sitting in the chair, being examined by the scientists.

“Any issues with the asset?”

“No,” Rumlow replies in a hard voice. “Mission went as planned. Not a single problem.”

“Good.” Pierce nods. “Very good. Wipe him. Put him away. Standard protocol.”

The head scientist nods and points to the lab technicians who begin setting up the machinery and preparing for cryo freeze.

“Walk with me, agent Rumlow.”

Rumlow blinks in surprise. He casts a glance at the asset, who meets his gaze with acceptance in his eyes.

“Is there a problem, agent?”

Rumlow shakes his head. “No problem at all, sir.” He follows the older man out.

It feels wrong. He’s never not been there while Winter gets wiped. He’s always taken care of him afterwards, cleaned him up... said his last goodbyes. There’s a pain in his chest that he can’t explain. And this feels like yet another lost opportunity.

“The world is changing, agent Rumlow. We’re preparing ourselves for a new world order. There are those who say there’s a war coming. You’re going to want to make sure you’re on the right side.”

“I’ve already chosen my side, sir.”

“Good. You know by now, that order only comes from pain. That’s the only real truth there is. Are you ready for it?”

Rumlow thinks about Winter screaming in his chair, his mind broken once again, forgetting him... again. He nods. “I’m ready.”

 


	6. Interlude

**2011**

“Captain America? The legend? The war hero, Captain America?”

“That’s right.”

Rumlow stares. He’s baffled. “What—how is that possible? The guy died in the forties! I know, I fucking read about him in grade school.”

“Not dead, Agent Rumlow—frozen.” Nick Fury corrects him. “For nearly seventy years. Unbelievable, huh?”

Rumlow doesn’t answer him. He tries not to let his mind wander to someone else who’s currently frozen in a hidden chamber of some unmentioned HYDRA facility.

“His plane was found in the Artic. He’s still alive, after seventy years.” Fury shakes his head, a small smile on his face, a rare sight indeed. “The legend returns. It’s amazing.”

“Yes, it is, sir.” Rumlow says, in his most professional voice.

He tries not to be too impressed by the national hero.

After all, the way the history books tell it, Steve Rogers would be nothing without Erskine’s super soldier serum. He was the weakest kid on the playground, nothing but a lucky laboratory experiment gone right, where others had failed.

His opinion of the man doesn’t begin to change until the Chitauri invasion. Fucking aliens. Who would have thought? No one ever mentioned aliens to him when he signed up.

But watching the soldier pull together a group of misfits, and lead them into battle to defeat the worst threat the planet has ever faced, it’s… fucking impressive. Awe-inspiring even.

After meeting him in person, ( _“Captain Rogers, it’s an honor to meet the legend,” — “Please, I’m just a soldier.”_ ) the American war hero, he gains a respect for the man that he will never admit to—not even to himself. No doubt, they are as different as night and day.

When Pierce tells him that Rogers will be working with the STRIKE team, he feels both keenness and hesitance. He’s eager to work with the legend, to learn from him, to train with him. At the same time, it’s so easy to hate him, because underneath it all, Steve Rogers is a good man. He’s honorable, and self-sacrificing, all the things that Rumlow rolls his eyes at (definitely not attributes that he secretly wishes he had himself).

“We need to keep Rogers close,” Pierce says to him. “The world as we know it is changing. Whether he knows it or not, Rogers will be playing a role in it.”

“He’s an adversary, and a dangerous one. Wouldn’t it be better to kill him? Before he finds out and tries to put a stop to our plans?” Rumlow doesn’t usually question his superiors, but this is a special case.

“Not yet, Agent. He could be useful. I want you to get close to him, befriend him, and get him to trust you.”

“Yes, sir,” Rumlow grumbles.

Befriend Captain America. Great. Now he has to deal with the man lost in time. How depressing. What the hell could he possibly have in common with the man from the forties?

 

_A symbol to the nation, a hero to the world. The story of Captain America is one of honor, bravery, and sacrifice._

_Denied enlistment due to poor health…_

Rumlow makes his way through the crowd, grimacing as a woman holding onto her child bumps into his back. The Smithsonian is nearly packed to the limit. Clearly, he should have picked an off peak hour to check out the new exhibit.

He frowns when his eyes land on the pre-serum picture of Steve Rogers. A weak, scrawny 5’4”. Un-fucking-believable.

_… would transform him into the world’s first super soldier._

Super soldier, he silently sneers. Not everyone has the luxury of getting a scientific miracle serum pumped through their veins. Some people actually have to work hard to keep in peak physical condition.

He heads towards a less crowded corner of the exhibit.

_Battle tested, Captain America and his Howling Commandos, quickly earned their stripes. Their mission, taking down HYDRA, the Nazi rogue science division…_

Rumlow’s attention is peaked. He turns his head at the mention of HYDRA, and the sight he’s met with tears the breath right out of his lungs.

It’s him, the face that’s haunted his dreams. Winter.

Laughing and smiling, looking happier than he’s ever seen him… next to Rogers.

It’s almost sickening how fucking happy they look.

After the initial shock wears off— _is it really him?_ —he turns to look at the surrounding panels. There’s a large, blown up, black and white image of his face. There’s no denying that it’s the Winter Soldier—or, whoever he was before he was made into the Winter Soldier.

Rumlow’s eyes skim the text, taking in every word, every bit of information that’s given. Because for too long, he’s ached to know more about Winter, and now he can finally know.

_Best friends since childhood. Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield. Barnes is the only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his country._

James Buchanan Barnes.

His name is James Buchanan Barnes.

Finally. A name for the face.

A breath he didn’t know he was holding escapes his lips. The ever-constant ache in his chest grows even more painful. It’s him. It’s really him.

He thinks back to all the moments when the man underneath slipped through the cracks of HYDRA’s programming. Flashes and glimpses of the man he was before… his name is James Buchanan Barnes. He’s become an obsession.

_Born in 1917—lived in Brooklyn NY—American soldier in WWII—prisoner of war—best friend of Steve Rogers—_

He wants to know more. He _needs_ to know more.

Winter... No, not Winter. Bucky Barnes. The name tastes like ash on his tongue. It’s too personal. It’s Rogers’ name for him, and it represents everything that he doesn’t have with Winter, and everything that he so desperately wants.

How could he have been so stupid? How did he not figure it out sooner? He feels like a fucking idiot. It would have been so easy—if he just tried harder, he should have realized—super soldier (no doubt the Winter Soldier is a super soldier), 1940’s human experimentation, the only known success being Captain America, leading him straight to… the best friend Bucky Barnes—so simple, it would have been so easy to figure out. 

It certainly would have made the years of not knowing easier.

He’s pissed at himself. He’s even feels a twinge of anger towards Pierce, because there’s no possible way Pierce didn’t know who the Winter Soldier was (James Buchanan Barnes, Roger’s best friend), even if it did happen before his time. Not that the man is obligated to share such information with a lowly agent—but he’s still angry either way.

 

He doesn’t abandon his mission to HYDRA. In fact, he makes it his personal duty to get as close to Steve Rogers as possible. Not in an overly creepy way, of course. He’s friendly, but not too eager. He’s clearly the most experienced on their tactical team, but he’s not (overly) conceited about it. He pays attention, and when he notices Rogers having a rough day—whether it’s acclimating to the 21st century or something else—he tries to offer a shoulder to lean on.

_(Hey Cap, you look like you could use a drink.)_

“What’s that you got there?” Rumlow makes sure to sound casual, that there’s no intonation in his voice. Because he knows exactly what Rogers is looking at. It’s an old, faded, black and white photograph of Barnes and Rogers. It’s small—wallet sized. He’s caught the man staring at it several times now, never had to guts to bring it up in conversation.

Rogers inhales a deep breath, like he’s preparing himself, like discussing Bucky Barnes is the hardest thing he’s had to do since he woke up from the ice. He passes the photo over and Rumlow gently takes it in his hand. The two men—young men, early twenties, maybe late teens—are smiling at the camera. The faded background looks like an amusement park. There’s a Ferris wheel in the background.

“Coney Island, 1936. That damn picture cost a dime back in the day,” Rogers says softly. “I didn’t want to. Just keeping a roof over our heads was tough enough. But Bucky insisted. And…” he breaks off and just shakes his head. “I had to fight with the museum just to get the damn picture back. They were going to put it on display… just like everything else.”

“They’re your personal belongings, they got no right to take that from you.” Rumlow passes the picture over. His eyes linger on Barnes’ smiling face.

“No, I’m a national hero now.” Mild sarcasm coats his dry words as he rubs a hand over his face. “Things are… expected of me. God, everything was simpler back in the day. Work hard, put food on the table, fight for your country… things made sense back then.”

“I’m sorry about your friend.”

Rogers turns to look at him.

“I read about him, about what happened, at the exhibit. It must have been hard for you.”

Slowly, Rogers nods. He’s thankful for the words. “Yeah. He was my best friend. We grew up together. He was… he was everything to me. You know, growing up, I was small and sickly, I swear I caught the flu at least three times a year. And I was too dumb for my own good. I was always picking fights with guys twice my size, got my ass kicked for it too. Bucky, he looked after me, like a big brother, he took care of me, made sure I never got into more trouble than I could handle. He always had my back. Always.”

He tries to imagine it. A young Bucky Barnes, handsome and carefree, before the war, before the torture and the experimentation, the brainwashing and the pain. The images don’t fit right in his mind. “He sounds like someone real special, Cap.”

Rogers lets out a grim laugh, “Yeah, he was.” The quiet sniffle doesn’t go unnoticed by Rumlow— _fuck, you better not start crying._

“Bucky was… Bucky was something else. He was smart, better grades than me in school. He was handsome, jesus, he had dames falling all over him. He never let it get to his head though. He always knew his place in the world. Most of the time, he helped keep me grounded, kept my head from getting bigger than it should.”

“You sound like you were a little bit in love with him.”

Rogers looks up at him in shock. A faint blush crosses his cheeks, before Rumlow gives him a smile, letting him know he’s just joking.

“I’m sorry you lost him.”

“Thanks. Bucky was a hero in his own right. You know, people only cared about Captain America back then, they said I was a hero who saved thousands. A symbol of the nation.” He shakes his head. “I was only doing what was right. When Bucky’s unit was captured, they… experimented on him, tortured him. When I found him, strapped to a fucking table, he didn’t even recognize me for a moment. I don’t know what the fuck they were doing to him.”

Rumlow’s eyes shift away. There’s an uncomfortable ache in his chest as his heart pounds. Seventy years ago, that’s when it all started. For the first time, he really feels hatred towards HYDRA, for what they did to him.

“He was a fucking mess after that. He tried not to show it, but I saw, I knew. Even after all that, he refused to get left behind, said he had to look out for me, make sure I didn’t do anything stupid.” He lets out another wry laugh. “Of course, after he died, I flew a fucking plane into the ocean. I think I needed Bucky more than I ever thought I did. When I thought he was dead… I—I can’t even describe… and then when he actually died. When I watched him fall…”

Rumlow’s right hand is clenched in a fist under the table, even as his other hand reaches out to pat the other man on the shoulder, in an attempt to offer comfort.

“I know it’s been almost seventy years. I still can’t believe it. It feels like I lost him yesterday. I lost my best friend. Bucky gave his life… because I was a dumb kid from Brooklyn who thought he could make a difference.”

Rumlow grimaces. He could do without the buckets of self-pity. “You’ve saved a lot of lives, Cap. That’s what matters. You have made a difference. And Bucky would be real proud of you if he were here today.”

Rogers smiles at him. “Thanks, Rumlow. Thanks for listening.”

 

The more Rumlow learns about him, the greater his disdain for the man. Steve Rogers is not just a good soldier. He’s a good man, full of loyalty and sacrifice. Willing to go to all lengths for his country, and apparently his best friend.

Nick Fury thinks Rogers can save the world. Rumlow scoffs at the thought. At the end of the day, Rogers is still just a man—just a kid from Brooklyn, in his own words. HYDRA is unstoppable. _Cut off one head, two more will take its place._

Not even Captain America stands a chance. There’s no doubt in his mind, that when the time comes, Captain America will once again be the fucking hero who sacrifices everything to save the world—it just won’t be enough.

The man has a moral compass on him that would make Rumlow’s head spin. And while he can respect him for it on a good day, it also makes him hate him. Because Steve Rogers had Bucky, the _real_ Bucky. Steve Rogers had everything that he has ever wanted. His words betrayed all of his love for the man. Reciprocated love, the Winter Soldier breakdowns suggest. He wonders if Rogers ever knew.

It’s a fucking tragedy.

If only Rogers knew the suffering that his best friend has endured. While he slept, peacefully, for nearly seventy years, Bucky Barnes has been the longest serving prisoner of war in history. It’d break his fucking heart. And if Rumlow were a crueler man, he’d tell him.

He almost comes close to it.

But he doesn’t. Because he knows, that Rogers would tear the world apart, to find Bucky. And he also knows, that if Winter were here—in his right mind—Winter would always choose Rogers over him.

 


	7. +One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> +One: the fallout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally over. Apologies for the long wait.
> 
> I had always imagined this to be the ending to this story. Sorry to those of you who wanted a happy ending. My Rumlow was never meant to be a good person. He was just a bad guy who fell in love with HYDRA's prisoner. I might write a sequel one day, depending on the response to this, but probably not in the near future.
> 
> I never expected such a great response to this story. Thanks for reading everybody!

**+One: 2014**

 

He’s thirty-nine years old, and he finds his days filled with a barely contained self-loathing.

Over twenty years he’s served HYDRA as their loyal henchman. He has no qualms about his position in the organization, no doubts about his purpose, no illusions of grandeur.

He knows exactly who he is, and what he owes them.

At the end of the day, HYDRA has given his life direction. He has meaning. He has purpose. The stability is easy. Orders are easy. They say ‘jump’, he says ‘how high’. It’s easy.

But sometimes, he finds himself wanting a little bit more.

He believes the message. He truly does. He believes in HYDRA and the world they are trying to build.

HYDRA will make the world a better place.

That doesn’t mean he has to like it.

HYDRA was founded on the belief that humanity could not be trusted with its own freedom. Sometimes, when he lies alone at night, staring at nothing, thinking about the prisoner that he hasn’t seen in four long years, he aches for his own freedom.

He’s heard whispers coming from up top. Plans are coming together. Finally, the time is almost upon them. HYDRA is going to show the world what real power is.

“Prepare yourself, Agent Rumlow. The world as we know it is about to change. We all have a role to play. And you,” Pierce claps a hand on his shoulder with a smile, “are essential to our success.”

He tries not to let it get to his head, but it does make him feel a bit grandiose.

He’s not a nobody anymore. He’s head of the STRIKE team, sleeper agent inside SHIELD. He's well respected among the organization, even to the senior members. He’s worked damn hard to get to where he is. 

He’s even working side by side with the nation’s beloved hero, Steve Rogers. Captain fucking America. He can hardly believe it himself some days.

As much as he hates the man and everything he stands for, honor, integrity, righteousness—fucking self sacrificing son of a bitch—he can’t help but respect him at the same time.

“Job well done, Agent Rumlow. Thanks for having my back.”

Rumlow turns back towards the other man and nods. “Thanks, Cap. Hey, don’t be too hard on Romanoff, she was just following orders.”

Rogers huffs out a breath. “Don’t you think the rest of us should have been privy to her secret orders? She endangered the mission and the lives of everyone on that boat. Fury gives her a mission of her own, the rest of us need to know about it—we’re not a team otherwise.”

Rumlow nods, and lets it go. The camaraderie is nice sometimes, and he has to remind himself it’s not real.

Nothing is real except HYDRA, and their frozen, secret soldier. The guilt eats at him. The regret that he can’t help the man he claims to love. Winter still lies in his cold, frozen chamber. His prison.

It takes every ounce of his willpower to act normal, act like nothing’s out of the ordinary, he’s just another SHIELD agent. He pushes thoughts of hacking into HYDRA’s files, finding out where the soldier gets stored when he’s not in use, breaking him out and running away to live their lives together, out of his head. (Sometimes he even thinks about going to Rogers for help, spilling all his secrets, and begging for his help in freeing the man they both love). It’s all nothing but a dream. If he wants Winter, he’s going to have to do it right.

Things are going to change, soon, he tells himself. He’s got a plan.

 

“Is he ready?”

The tech nods, looking over paperwork to make sure they didn’t miss anything. “Asset’s ready for mission, sir.”

“Good.” Rumlow steps towards the figure in the chair. The soldier has already been outfitted for the mission. He’s wearing a dark jacket that covers both arms, hiding the metal from sight, except for the fingers that poke out of the gloves on his left hand.

Plain sight, daylight missions are rare for the asset, but time is of the essence, and the target needs to be taken out immediately.

Rumlow glances over his shoulder, making sure no one is in earshot. The techs have all left the room. He spies the familiar black mask sitting on a counter and picks it up. He slowly twirls the mask in his fingers as he silently watches the soldier.

“I’ve missed you.” His voice is low and hard as he watches the other man for a reaction. “I know you don’t remember me, but I’ve missed you.” He has no problem admitting it anymore. And he’s no longer the soft, naïve young man he was before, so many years ago.

Not that it matters of course, because Winter never fucking remembers him anyway. He gets wiped clean, and he never fucking remembers.

The soldier stares up at him blankly, his eyes dull and lifeless, silently awaiting his mission.

“The target.” Rumlow hands over a slim folder, a photograph of Nick Fury’s face on the cover.

“Nicholas Fury, director of SHIELD. You have twenty-four hours.” He takes a half step closer, and lowers his voice, they’re only inches apart. “Something big is going down, Winter. Life changing. World changing. Do you understand? And you’re going to be a part of it.” He leans down and lifts the soldier’s chin so they’re looking at each other. Absentmindedly he caresses the other man’s face, his fingers running over the light stubble of his cheek.

“Listen to me, I’m not going to be with you on this mission. I’ve got a mission of my own. But afterwards… I’m going to take care of you. Okay? I’m not going to let them take you. I’m not going to let them hurt you. I promise.” He swallows the lump in his throat. “I promise.” He has to repeat the words because he can hardly believe he’s saying them.

“If everything goes well, if Project Insight goes up, they won’t need you anymore.”

Winter narrows his eyes at him, tilts his head just a touch to the right.

“HYDRA’s been working on a new breed of super soldiers anyway, something called… the Centipede serum. They’ll have their own army of super soldiers. They won’t need you.” He has to pause, because the words he’s saying feel as much a promise to himself, as to Winter. “I’m thinking retirement, maybe? Maybe you and I can… maybe they’ll let me take care of you. No more missions, no more… freezing. I don’t have it all figured out, but I think I may have enough influence to convince them… to let you go.”

The soldier blinks at him.

Rumlow draws a shaky breath. Or maybe he’s just kidding himself. Maybe he’s kidding them both. Pierce likes him, but not _that_ much. If it doesn’t work out, if Pierce says no, then it’s not like Winter will remember his promise anyway.

*

His heart pounds as he makes his way through the long hallway. SHIELD is a hectic mess, mass panic in every direction. To be expected when an assassination attempt is made on the director’s life. Nothing has been officially confirmed yet, but HYDRA’s already rejoicing, and making plans for their next move to ensure the success of Project Insight. 

He doesn’t have long. He’s got orders to be at the hospital. But he just wants to check on Winter first.

 

“Target eliminated.”

Rumlow narrows his eyes. He watches him carefully, eyes scanning him head to toe, but there are no signs of anything out of the ordinary. He sits on the chair, both arms still and by his side. He’s wearing his usual leather tactical suit, the metal arm flashy and exposed. His mask has been removed. There’s no sign of malfuction.

He had already gotten the mission report from one of the other officers; there was confirmed interaction with Steve Rogers as the asset was making his getaway. He half thought seventy years of programming would break apart at the sight of his old friend. Evidently not. He saw Steve Rogers, and Steve Rogers saw him. Thank god he had the mask on. The dark make up is still smudged around his eyes.

“You okay?” Rumlow finally asks, even though he knows the answer. The mission report had confirmed no injuries.

“System fully functional.”

Rumlow nods. He walks over to the counter, opening random drawers until he finds a washcloth. He wets it at the sink and makes his way back to the soldier. Tilting the man’s head up, he gently wipes the dark make up off his face.

“Close your eyes.”

Winter does as he’s told. His eyes slowly open again once Rumlow has finished the job. He blinks once, staring up at his handler with brilliant blue eyes and a blank expression.

A moment passes between them, silent and still.

Rumlow leans down slowly, and presses their lips together in a chaste kiss, soft and gentle, just a touch of the lips. The dirty washcloth falls onto the floor, forgotten. His fingers gently touch the column of the soldier’s throat, bared for him, and move upward to his face, up again and they run through his tangled mess of hair.

A soft moan escapes him, because Winter tastes just like he remembers, and it has been far too long. His tongue reaches out to slip past the other man’s lips. Winter does nothing to stop him. There’s no response from him at all. And when Rumlow finally opens his eyes, the soldier stares back at him, blank and unblinking.

His lips tingle with pleasure after they’ve parted.

Rumlow pulls back a few inches, wishing that he would get some sign from the other man, a response, anything at all. But it’s only the second day that the soldier has been thawed, much too soon for any human like reaction from him. He aches for it—can’t wait for the programming to crack, and let the human personality filter through.

He knows he’s playing with fire, but he can’t help it. He shouldn’t be wishing for such things when so much rests on the next few days. Every move HYDRA makes right now is critical to Project Insight going up. And they need their super soldier. Nothing can go wrong. The asset needs to do his job, and so does he. No mistakes. No failures. He’ll put aside his own problems until after.

Rumlow leans in, kisses him again softly.

“I have to go. You’re on stand by for now. If we can’t take down Rogers, Pierce will probably call you in. One more mission, possibly your last. Hopefully.”

*

He squints through the debris as the truck rolls to a stop. The smoke and dust is slowly settling, the only movement detectable. He opens his door and climbs out of the vehicle, heading for the wreckage. His team follows behind him.

“Fan out, find them. I want to see two dead bodies before we’re done.”

He carefully maneuvers around the rubble. There’s not much light, but he can see well enough. There’s no sign of either target. Romanoff would be hard to take down, an expert spy trained from birth to kill; she’s one of SHIELD’s best. But she’s not super powered. Rogers on the other hand—well, even he can’t survive a fucking missile.

There’s still a steady throbbing behind his temples from the blow to the head from Rogers. Not his first time being hit by a super soldier, and it hurt no less than the first time. 

He’s eager to have Rogers put down. If anyone asks, he’d say it’s because the man poses such a threat to HYDRA and Project Insight. But really, having the two long lost super soldiers awake in the same decade makes his hands itch. Of course he was lying when he said it wasn’t personal. Rogers has no idea just how personal it is.

He steps over a large pile of rubble, looks down, and sees heavy footprints in the fresh dirt. Fuck. Rogers is still alive.

He grabs his radio. “Call in the asset.”

They need Rogers and Romanoff dead. Now. And if the Winter Soldier has to be the one to do it, then Rumlow will gladly see it done.

“They’re not here. We’re heading back to base.”

The soldier will take care of it. He’s seen the asset in action enough times to know what he’s capable of, and he’s more than a match for Captain America. The programming is still strong, strong enough to ensure that the Winter Soldier’s perfect mission record continues unblemished. 

And Rumlow will never have to worry about Steve Rogers again.

The plan is solid. Nothing to worry about, he tells himself. Nothing the soldier hasn’t done several dozen times before.

By the time he gets back to base and cleaned up, the asset is just returning from his meeting with Pierce. He’s got his orders now. _Two targets, level six. I want confirmed death in ten hours._

Rumlow’s seen the mission protocol. The asset will go in with a large team to assist him, more men than he’s ever worked with. Then again, they’ve never taken down someone as hard to kill as Captain America. The failed operation in the elevator is proof of that.

“We’re tracking down the targets now. We’ve got a pretty good idea where they’re heading. You ready?”

The asset gives a single nod of his head.

Rumlow’s dark eyes watch him. The asset has seen the pictures. He knows the targets. But there’s no recognition on his face. No glimmer of emotion at the names or the faces. Nothing. Just stone cold, feral programming.

For once, he’s thankful for it.

Rumlow reaches for the mask and the goggles. The mask goes on first, tight and fitting on his face, like a muzzle. Then the goggles, hiding the blue eyes from sight. He hates it, as he stares at the terrifying mask—HYDRA’s secret asset, their greatest weapon—but he knows that it’s necessary. Even more so because of who the primary target is.

He can admit to himself that he’s been terrified of this moment ever since he found out the soldier’s true identity.

He’s terrified to lose him.

For the first time is over seventy years, the Winter Soldier is about to face the man he sacrificed his life for. He’s read all the stories, and from what he’s managed to gather from conversations with Rogers, he is the reason why Barnes was on that train that day, the reason why he fell, and was taken by the Soviets, and made into what he is today.

The Winter Soldier is not a blank slate. He knows this. He’s known this from his first mission with him. The wipes don’t take away everything, they can’t. He wouldn’t be able to function if they did, let alone complete missions with the efficiency and brutality of the Winter Soldier. The wipes don’t hold, and the programming breaks down. His mind heals. And if he were to ever remember his past, if he were to realize what’s been done to him, over seventy long years, he would slaughter every person who has played a hand in his suffering.

The idea terrifies him. (But also gives him a thrill, the notion that Winter might give back every bit that he was given. It’s nothing less than they deserve, for seventy years of pain, torture, and suffering).

“Time to go, soldier.”

 

He can hear distant sounds of gunfire, explosions, and screaming. Civilians rush in every haphazard direction, trying to get away from the danger.

His fingers itch around his gun, and his foot taps relentlessly. There’s nothing he hates more than not being a part of the action. But orders are orders. And right now, they’re still playing the good guys. The rest of the world will see SHIELD’s STRIKE team take in the dangerous fugitive Steve Rogers. They won’t see the smile on his face when he puts a bullet in his patriotic head.

Their van pulls up just as the soldier dodges out of sight in a flash of metal. The haze of smoke clears, and there’s no sign of Winter.

Rumlow rushes out of the van, his tactical training taking over. “Drop the shield, Captain, get down on your knees. Down on your knees!”

His eyes roam the area for the asset. He’s nowhere in sight. A few feet away, the mask lies on the ground. Fuck. He barely notices as Rogers shakily drops to his knees. The man doesn’t even acknowledge when Rumlow places reinforced handcuffs around his wrists, behind his back. He must be in shock. Rogers has just seen Barnes’ face, for the first time in seventy years. It must have been like seeing a ghost.

He’s been dreading this moment, ever since he learned of the Winter Soldier’s true identity. Rogers is a dead man walking. There’s no way he won’t try to get his best friend back. And Rumlow won’t let that happen. He pulls the man to his feet and shoves him towards one of the vans. The sooner they get out of public sight, the sooner he can put a bullet in his head. And make sure Winter is okay after their encounter.

On the way back to base, he learns that the soldier has already made his way back to the rendezvous point. He’s safe. His relief is short lived, when he realizes Rogers and the other two have escaped from their van.

He’s furious of course. The last thing he wanted was Rogers to see Winter’s face and then keep breathing. The mission was a complete failure. It’s gone the worst it could possibly have happened. Not only is Rogers not in custody, he knows Barnes is alive, and is probably ready to tears down their doors to take him back.

Winter… his first failed mission.

Rumlow stalks through the dimly lit bank vault. The timid looking doctor steps awkwardly out of his way.

“The repairs on his arm are just about done—”

“Get out.” He interrupts. “Everyone out. I want a moment alone with the asset.”

“But he’s—”

“You heard me,” he growls at the man. “Everyone out.”

The doctor rushes out of his way, and the technician hastily closes the metal plates of the asset’s arm and shuffles back. They quickly file out of the room. Rumlow can feel Rollin’s questioning gaze on his back but he ignores it. He’s only focused on Winter now.

The vault door closes with a clang.

He steps forward until he’s just a foot away from the soldier’s legs.

The other man doesn’t look at him. He stares, blankly in front of him, seeing nothing, or maybe everything.

“Winter?” He pulls a chair closer and drops down on it, watching the asset carefully now that they’re at eye level. “Hey?” His hand gently shakes the soldier’s thigh. “Are you okay?” He sees no physical injuries. There was minimal damage done to the arm. He certainly held his own against Captain America.

The man blinks, his eyes come into focus, and he lifts his head slightly to meet his gaze. His lips fall open, and a second passes like he doesn’t know what he wants to say. “The man on the bridge… Who was he?” His voice is soft, like a child’s. He sounds so lost, Rumlow just wants to wrap his arms around him and never let go. Even after all these years, his absurd need to protect HYDRA’s most dangerous weapon hasn’t faded.

His fingers tighten their grip on the other man’s thigh but he gets no response from him. He grits his teeth before he answers. “You met him earlier this week on another assignment.”

The soldier’s eyes drop, and they flicker to the right, like he’s looking at something only he can see. Or maybe he’s remembering, some distant memory, lost so many years ago.

“I knew him.”

Those three little words strike an indescribable wave of anger through him. Winter never fucking remembers him, but somehow, after seventy torturous years, and dozens of mind wipes, he somehow manages to know _him_.

“Steve Rogers is your fucking target.” Rumlow says, anger apparent in his low voice. His eyes flash dangerously, and he kind of feels like he’s losing his mind a bit. “You were supposed to kill him. He was the target. You failed.”

“Steve Rogers…” Winter repeats the words softly, testing them on his tongue. He still doesn’t fucking look at him.

It infuriates him.

“Steve Rogers is nobody, do you understand me?” He grips the other man by his shoulders and shakes him, trying to snap him out of it. The bare shoulder is warm under his hand, the other is cold, hard metal. “He’s nobody. Just fucking forget about him, and focus on the mission. He’s _nothing_ to you. Just—“

“Who’s Bucky?”

The soft words stop him in his place. How many years has it been since he forgot his own name? How many years since he's heard it spoken from another mouth?

Rumlow lets out a breath, feeling like it’s been forced out of his lungs, like his world is falling apart, and he can feel it all slowly slipping away. Every hope, every wish, everything that he’s ever wanted, is slipping away. His hands slowly slide down Winter’s arms, until he’s gripping the other man’s hands in his own.

Once Winter remembers, once he knows the truth, he’ll leave, forever.

Rumlow bites his lip, wanting to keep silent—but he can’t lie, not now, not anymore. “You are. Your name is Bucky.”

Blue eyes widen, his lips fall open, and Winter finally meets his gaze. Rumlow is struck once again by how beautiful he finds him.

“Bucky,” he whispers. “My name is… Bucky.”

Rumlow watches as the man in front of him fights within himself, trying to understand, to put the pieces together in his broken mind.

This is what he wanted, he tries to convince himself, he’s always wanted the man underneath the programming, the broken man. He’s only ever wanted to help him, to fix him.

“He was my friend.”

_But he’s not supposed to remember Rogers._

“Why… why am I…” The soldier turns his gaze on him.

Rumlow can see anger start to build in the soldier’s eyes. His beautiful face morphs into an image of confusion, disbelief, and then… rage. The first touches of defiance make themselves known. He knows how dangerous this is. He knows how dangerous the asset is. There’s a reason HYDRA keeps him chained and muzzled. If he were to ever break free…

He needs to stop it.

Rumlow grabs for the human wrist, pressing it down hard against the armrest, hard enough to hurt.

“отключить рычаг”

The gears in the metal arm shut off with a soft whirr. The soldier glances down at the still limb, then back up in confusion. His brow is furrowed, and his eyes are questioning. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand what’s happening.

Rumlow can already see the fibers of self-awareness start to form behind those beautiful eyes. A light of recognition, realization, and desperation to fight the programming that’s held him prisoner inside his own mind. For too long, all he’s known is the freezer, orders, and missions. It’s all changing—because of one man—and it’s all falling apart in his head.

“Shhhh,” he whispers. “Don’t resist. Don’t resist me.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

 _This_ is Bucky Barnes. He’s lost, alone, and scared, and… so young. For a moment he looks just like the young man in the photos, about to go off to war. He can almost see the smiling face shining on the wall of the Smithsonian, best friend Steve Rogers by his side. The friend he was willing to die for.

“Because you’re _mine_. Do you understand that?” His fingers tighten painfully around the other man’s wrist. “You are _mine_.”

Barnes doesn’t speak, but he does shake his head. “No… no, I’m—”

“не сопротивляться”

The soldier falls silent at the words. There’s enough programming in place for that at least.

Rumlow slowly releases his wrist, which lays stiff and unmoving against the armrest, and stands. Winter stares up at him, wide-eyed and lips parted, silent. For the first time, there’s a hint of fear in his eyes. It gives him a twinge of pleasure, to have such a dangerous man _fear_ him.

He climbs onto the chair, straddling his thighs, towering over the other man. He presses him back against the chair, leans down, and kisses him the way he’s wanted to for so long. His tongue forces into the other man’s mouth. The soldier whimpers against him, helpless and meek. The sound goes straight to his groin. Like it’s awakened something in him.

His hands run down the man’s bare chest. He feels the warm, hard muscle under his palms. So strong, resilient, super human… and completely helpless against him. His fingers hit the top of the man’s pants. He deftly undoes them, pulling down the zipper and yanking down, only hindered by the other man’s still hips.

“No. No. Don’t.” Winter mumbles, “Please. Please don’t.” He’s fighting against the programming that keeps him still, keeps him from fighting back. He fights against the confusion that’s muddled his brain, trying to understand what’s been happening to him, why it's been happening to him.

Rumlow pauses, he’s got the pants pooled around the man’s knees, caught in place by his boots. He looks up and sees tear tracks running down Winter’s face.

He’s crying.

It hurts, knowing that despite how much he loves him, and cares for him, and  _wants_ him, Winter will never want him back.

He kisses him, forcefully, painfully. It’s a mess of lips and tongue. He just wants to _taste_ him. He grips the soldier’s hair, it’s a tangled mess in his fingers. He pulls it back, baring the man’s throat, which he attacks with his lips and his teeth. He doesn’t care if he leaves marks, he doesn’t care anymore.

He just wants to feel him.

Winter whimpers when he bites down a bit too hard. “Please stop,” he whispers.

The words don’t faze him. He doesn’t let himself think about what he’s doing. He’s got a naked, warm body beneath him. The one he’s wanted for nearly two long decades. Half his life. Years of being helpless as he suffers, unable to see him when he wants, unable to touch him.

He’s going to take what he wants now.

His cock is hard in his pants and he ruts against the body beneath him. He groans against the man’s skin in anticipation.

He lifts his head, and he watches the man’s face. Winter silently begs him to stop. The tears in his eyes spill over his cheeks. His lips are red and bruised. Even when he’s crying, he’s still the most beautiful thing Rumlow has ever laid eyes on.

He finds the button that pulls the chair flat. He grips the man’s hips and flips him over onto his stomach. The metal arm clangs loudly against the chair. He’s tense, trembling slightly underneath him.

Rumlow leans down, pressing kisses to the back of his neck, inhaling the scent of his hair fisted in his grip. He runs his other hand down the back of his spine.

“You’re mine,” he says in a low voice. “You will always be _mine_. Never forget that. Rogers couldn’t save you on that train, and he’s not here to save you now. He can’t save you.”

He undoes the front of his own pants. His cock is aching to be free. He spits a generous glob into his palm and coats his dick as lube. It won’t be enough, but the asset can take it. He spreads the man’s cheeks, and presses himself against his entrance.

“Please…”

He ignores the final plea, and presses inside. Winter instinctively clenches around him. He’s so tight, and warm around him. It feels so fucking good, he can almost ignore the fact that he’s taking what he wants, and breaking the man he loves.

Winter whimpers in pain. The sound hurts to hear, but he doesn’t stop his thrusts. His hand grips the back of the man’s neck, his fingers curl around stray strands of hair, and he presses tender kisses onto his shoulder, a painful imitation of gentleness.

He’s too far gone to stop now. His climax is close. A particularly hard thrust makes a soft cry of pain from the back of Winter’s throat. He feels moisture between his legs, and knows that he’s probably making the soldier bleed, but he’s so close—he grunts and groans against Winter’s skin, his teeth dig into the sensitive flesh where his neck meets his shoulder, and he rides out the waves of pleasure coursing through him.

Then it’s over.

He continues to lay on the other man, pressing him down with his weight, as he catches his breath. His tongue reaches out to taste the man’s skin. Salty.

He can feel the man trembling beneath him. He slowly lifts himself up, and pulls his soft dick out of his body. There’s blood, not much, but it feels a bit like a punch in the gut.

He hates himself a bit, because Winter is shaking and crying underneath him. Broken. He’s never wanted to hurt him. He’s only ever wanted to love him, and be loved in return.

He’ll never love him now.

Rumlow puts himself back in his pants, tidies himself up, before trying to pull the other man’s pants up.

“Sit up,” he orders, his voice low and soft. “релиз механизм”

Slowly, Winter lifts himself up. Rumlow manages to get his pants done up, and turns him over to he’s sitting properly again. The soldier won’t look at him, his eyes fixate on the ground next to him, staring at nothing. Blank.

He hastily rubs away the tears on the man’s face. He can’t look at them anymore. He can see the pain and fear in his eyes. It hurts just to look at him, to see what he’s done. He hurt the man he loves, the man he swore to protect. He wants to apologize. The words are on the tip of his tongue—but he can’t get them out.

For the first time, he wants nothing more than to wipe his memory from Winter’s mind. To make him forget.

His thoughts are interrupted when he hears a commotion beyond the vault doors. Pierce must be here to see the asset. He turns away from the soldier—he doesn’t want to look at him anymore—and opens the door just in time to see Pierce turn the corner.

“Rumlow,” Pierce greets him. If he’s suspicious about what just happened in the vault, he makes no mention of it.

“Sir.”

“Status report?”

Rumlow swallows the lump in his throat. “Asset appears unstable. Erratic. Not functioning properly.”

“Hmm. Disappointing. Any idea why?”

“The mask was lost during his… interaction with Steve Rogers. He saw him, saw his face, and said his name.”

He can see the clench of Pierce’s jaw as he looks around him at the asset still sitting in the chair. Rumlow frowns and looks away as Pierce approaches the asset.

“Mission report. Mission report, now.”

There’s no response.

A loud smack echoes throughout the vault as Pierce backhands him across the face, hard enough to snap his head to the side, wild hair flying around him.

Rumlow winces. God knows Winter doesn’t deserve any of this.

“Where is he?" The asset asks softly. His voice sounds so broken. "Steve?”

“Steve Rogers evaded capture.”

“I knew him."

Rumlow watches as Pierce pulls a chair closer and sit in it, bringing himself to eye level with the asset. This is the part where he’ll talk to him like he’s a child to try to convince him to do their dirty work. He’s seen it before.

“Your work has been a gift to mankind. You shaped the century. And I need you to do it one more time. Society is at a tipping point between order and chaos. Tomorrow morning, we’re going to give it a push. But if you don’t do your job I can’t do mine. And HYDRA can’t give the world the freedom it deserves.”

The soldier’s face scrunches in pain. “But I knew him.”

Rumlow closes his eyes at the words. Every single time, Winter’s inability to let go of Steve Rogers only brings himself more pain.

Pierce sighs and stands, recognizing a lost cause when he sees one. He turns to the scientists in the room. “Prep him.”

“He’s been out of cryo freeze too long.”

“Then wipe him, and start over.”

Rumlow bows his head. He knew this would happen, expected it, and maybe even wanted it a little. It doesn’t make it any easier seeing it done.

The men push the asset back into the chair. He doesn’t fight back. He’s resigned and submissive, accepting of his fate. Who knows, maybe this time, he wants to forget. He doesn’t want to remember what happened to him, what his handler did to him…

Rumlow watches as he accepts the mouth guard. The metal restraints close around both his arms. He’s seen this too many times. The last time he saw it—he closes his eyes, he can’t even think about that. 

When he opens his eyes again, Winter’s chest heaves with quick, rapid breaths, there’s nothing but fear and distress on his face. His eyes clench shut as the machine comes closer. He’s so fucking scared. He remembers this, he remembers the pain, and he knows what’s coming.

This is wrong. He promised him that he wouldn’t let them hurt him again. He was so wrong.

The screams are the worst. His body shakes and spasms as the machine wipes him. This is what he wanted to take Winter away from. He was a fool to think he could make such promises.

 

“Awaiting mission protocol.”

The asset stares vacantly in front of him. He’s dressed and prepped, fresh programming firmly in place. Blank. Like a factory reset.

“Hi.” Not how he should be greeting the soldier, not what he should be saying, not what needs to be said. He swallows as he tries to find the right words. “I’m sorry about—” He breaks off when he hears commotion in the adjoining room, lab techs bustling about, just doing their job.

He clears his throat, now is not the time. “Your mission, soldier, is to take down Steve Rogers. He and a handful of others are trying to prevent Project Insight from going up. You need to make sure they fail. Those helicarriers are going up, today. And you are essential to the success of Project Insight. Do you understand?”

The asset nods.

“Your mission?”

“Take down Steve Rogers.”

“That’s right. You will stop him, using any means necessary.”

“Project Insight must go up.”

Rumlow nods. He lowers his voice when he speaks next, “Everything that we want relies on this. Please Winter, we both need this.”

The asset meets his eyes, but gives no indication that he understands the meaning behind those words.

It doesn’t matter. Once Project Insight goes up, once Steve Rogers is out of the picture, Rumlow can finally get Winter away from HYDRA. They’ll be too focused on world domination to care about their asset. No more missions, no more freezing, no more pain and torture. He’ll give him everything he promised. He’ll make it better. He has to.

The operation must be successful. And if there’s one thing that asset’s good at, it’s following orders.

 

It's when he sees the helicarriers falling out of the sky, that he knows. The Winter Soldier failed his mission. He knows Steve Rogers must have gotten through to him. It’s all lost, it’s over. HYDRA lost.

He’s angry, at himself for choosing the wrong team, at Winter for loving his best friend over him, at Rogers for fucking everything up… at Pierce for promising everything, and delivering nothing.

He hurt the man he loves, and now he’s lost him forever. Now that HYDRA is out in the open, the Winter Soldier’s identity is known, he’ll never return to him. They’ve lost him. He should have made his apologies when he had the chance. A part of him thinks he deserves this.

No. Pierce was the one in charge of Project Insight, the head of HYDRA, the one in charge of the Winter Soldier. The person who kept him prisoner, who gave the commands to torture and wipe him, who decided when the prisoner would be thawed for mission, and made him less of a person and more of an object to be used and mistreated.

It’s easier to hate Pierce for what he’s done than blame himself for being an agent to Winter’s pain and suffering.

Maybe something can still be salvaged out of this mess. The helicarriers are falling out of the sky. He can hear the chaos of explosions fill the air. Project Insight is a loss, if he can kill Pierce, if he can find Winter, maybe they can still get away. With HYDRA in ruins they can get away. Just two more casualties lost the day HYDRA was revealed to the world. They can be happy. He’ll spend the rest of his life making Winter happy.

He heads for the counsel. He just turns the corner, when a punch takes him by surprise. The gun flies out of his hand, he turns just in time to block a kick, and head butts his assailant to the ground.

Sam Wilson.

“This is going to hurt. There are no prisoners with HYDRA, just order. And order only comes from pain. Are you ready for yours?”

“Man, shut the hell up.”

They fight, throwing punches and kicks. Wilson is strong, but he knows the man is no match for him. He gets the upper hand and throws the other man to the ground.

Out the corner of his eye, through the full glass windows, he sees fire raining down from the sky. It kind of fits with what he’s feeling right now.

“You’re out of your depth, kid.”

But Wilson’s not looking at him anymore.

Rumlow turns just in time to see one of the helicarriers slam through the windows, sending glass and rubble in every direction, heading straight towards him.

“Son of a bitch!”

He doesn’t get very far before concrete and drywall rain down on him. It’s heavy, and it weighs down on him, burying him beneath the rubble. There’s smoke and dust in the air, he coughs as it fills his lungs.

He tries to rise but the wreckage is too heavy for him to lift, and he may have knocked his head on the way down because he feels groggy and sluggish.

Then he feels the heat. At first, he thinks it’s only smoke, but smoke has to come from somewhere. It burns the exposed skin of his arms. He tries to get away, to lift up, but he’s immobile.

He tries to scream when the pain gets too much but that only causes more smoke to enter his lungs. His vision blurs. His face and neck are exposed. It burns. He’s never been this close to heat before.

It hurts.

This is pain.

No order without pain. No order without pain.   

He deserves this, he realizes. For hurting him. He should have apologized when he had the chance, should have stolen him away from HYDRA, and begged on his knees for forgiveness. He’d give his life to ensure that no pain was to ever happen to him again.

He hopes that Winter remembers all the times he was good to him, and not the times that he hurt him. He hopes the man knows just how loved he was. And he hopes that Winter does eventually find his freedom. Though he knows that freedom always comes with a price. His will probably be burning the remains of HYDRA to the ground.

If he weren't in so much pain, on the verge of passing out, he'd smile at the thought.

He knows all too well the price of freedom.

 


End file.
